


Held Hostage II: Released

by theclaraschumann



Series: Held Hostage [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Blushing, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Dom/sub, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Build, Slow Burn, smaller age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaraschumann/pseuds/theclaraschumann
Summary: Sequel to Held Hostage I: Imprisoned. Things will be much clearer if you start there :)Hermione and Sirius have survived their imprisonment at the hands of the Neo-Death Eaters, but the experience has changed the way they think of one another. After forced intimacy in captivity, can they ever go back to 'normal'?...“I really need to figure out what to wear to—something tonight.”“Hermione.” Ginny’s eyes were glittering. “Do you have a date?”...Sirius took her by the shoulders. “Hermione, you didn’t do anything wrong.”“Neither did you,” she enunciated slowly, placing her hands on his knees. She squeezed, trying to make him understand.His eyes fell away from hers, but his expression seemed to soften....His tongue swept against hers, and his thumb mimicked the same motion on her jaw. He stretched his other hand over her ribs, remembering the feel of her body. Her hands were inside his jacket, feeling his chest. He broke off from her mouth, pressing kisses into her neck.“Sirius,” she breathed. “Maybe we should…”Remembering that they were in a public park, he dropped his head, resting his forehead on her collarbone.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Series: Held Hostage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895887
Comments: 259
Kudos: 257





	1. Ginny

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sequel to Held Hostage I: Imprisoned. Things will be much clearer if you start there :) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments on that work! You inspired me to write this sequel that explores their relationship in the aftermath of being rescued. After these first two chapters, I will be posting at least one a week, it may be a bit sporadic though.
> 
> Thanks Natasha_Rhiannon for helping name this!

After Sirius disapparated, Hermione stood on the side of the Quidditch pitch, replaying their conversation in her mind. She had been quite preoccupied thinking about their _ordeal,_ as she’d taken to calling it, throughout the week. But until now it had all seemed like a jar full of fanciful things whose top had been clamped shut tight, never to be opened again. And now it seemed Sirius’ hand was on the lid. 

She raced inside the Burrow. “Ginny?”

“Oh, hello love. She’s just in the loo.” Mrs. Weasley pointed, setting down her copy of _Witch Weekly_. “How was the match?”

“Great—Weasleys won,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall. She rapped quietly on the door to the toilet. “Gin?” she hissed, “can I come in?”

“Can it wait twenty seconds? I’m just having a wee.”

“Right, sorry. I just, um—I could use your help.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I really need to figure out what to wear to—something tonight.”

The door swung open. “Hermione.” Ginny’s eyes were glittering. “Do you have a date?”  
  


And suddenly it was like the last year of Hogwarts all over again. Being the only Gryffindor from her year to return to school, she had shared a dorm with Ginny and the other girls in her year. Without the boys around, the two of them had gotten a much needed opportunity to get to know each other better.

Hermione shut the door behind her, boosting herself onto the counter to sit.

“Is it, then? A date?”

She wished she knew the answer herself. “I… suppose?” 

“How exciting!” Ginny’s smile gleamed. “God, I can’t believe you just sat there the whole time everyone was playing Quidditch and didn’t say a thing! Who is it? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I… I just found out, actually.”

“What—Did you get an owl?”

_Shit._ She laughed nervously. “Not _just_ found out, I mean, only—it was earlier today. I just… didn’t know how to bring it up, you know, with Lavender there.” 

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “Who is it?”

“That’s kind of a long story…” She thought quickly. “I really can’t say, actually… It’s like, well—you know how inter-office relationships are frowned upon.”

“Ooh, romance at the Ministry,” Ginny giggled sarcastically, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I suppose you could do worse. Is it Roger Malone? Or, oh! That dark haired Ravenclaw from your year, something Cornfoot? No—NO! You’re not back with McLaggen again, are you?”

She wondered what Ginny would say if she found out it was her husband’s godfather they were talking about. She shook her head. “Sorry,” she shrugged, “I’m not going to say just yet.” 

She rolled her eyes even as she smirked. “Merlin, it’s been ages hasn’t it? You must be excited,” she insinuated with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Quite,” Hermione kept her tone matter-of-fact, not wanting to lose her style coach for the evening. 

“Hey,” Ginny said, tone softening. “Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking. Do you want, like an escort or anything? I’m sure it’s been a bit of an odd week getting back to it after those fucking Death Eaters kidnapped you…”

_If you only knew,_ she thought, with a dark laugh to herself. Then she looked at Ginny carefully. What _did_ she know? It would certainly have been possible for Harry, or even Ron to have shared the report with her. But then she reminded herself that what had transpired between her and Sirius on the last day was tucked safely into a separate file that wasn’t part of the official report. She realized she’d been thinking for too long and hurried to reassure her friend. “No, no, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Ginny.”

“Well, take this at least so you can let me know if anything goes wrong, yeah?” she fished in the pocket of her robe to withdraw a Galleon and presented it to Hermione. 

“Oh, you still use these?”

“Yeah, made mum feel better while Harry and I were in hiding. She has the other one, but I’ll get it from her now and meet you at your flat in a few.” 

Two minutes later, she was hopping into the shower at her flat. She charmed the loofah to scrub her body so she could focus on her hair. 

“So is it a first date?” Ginny called from her bedroom. 

“Um,” she hesitated, wondering how to explain. 

“Not the first, then!” her voice was closer now. “Second? Third? _Is_ it McLaggen?”

“It’s not McLaggen. And that’s all I’m telling you.”

“Have you… hooked up?” she pressed, but it at least sounded like she was back in the bedroom again. 

She giggled nervously. It was all so completely mad. “Sort of,” she offered, lathering.

“Oh my god! Hermione, we need to hang out more. Tell me about it!” 

She cringed inwardly. “I’ll tell you when there’s actually something to tell.” She allowed herself a moment to consider that absurd reality. 

Ginny laughed. “Come on, let an old pregnant, married broad live a little. Can you at least tell me what he’s like? Is he, like, old-fashioned, or boy-next-door… or a bad boy… or sporty…”

Hermione sighed. “Bad boy, probably?” She immediately regretted it. “Ginny, will you shut it? I do have neighbors!” 

“Sorry!” She cast a Muffling Charm and immediately returned to squealing.

Hermione piled conditioner into her palm and began working it into her hair. “What do you wear on a date with an old-fashioned guy, anyway?” 

She snorted. “Granny panties, probably? Ask Pansy Parkinson. You know, I always saw you with the rebel type.”

“Really?” She began to finger-comb through her curls. When there was no response, she offered, “I can probably pick out my own knickers.” 

“Let’s not chance it,” Ginny called, reminding her painfully of Lavender. “Where do you keep your bad-girl underthings?”

“It was a joke, Ginny!” Hermione tugged at a knot, plastering more conditioner on. “Dress first, yeah?”

“I’m on it, I’m on it. Where is he taking you? Casual or more formal?”

_Shit._ She’d almost prefer another of Lestrange’s interrogations. “Um, we’re just—” Her mind worked, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “—we’re meeting at his place, actually,” she finished as quickly as possible. 

“Yes!” came Ginny’s excited yell. Then a moment later, her voice was close. “You’re definitely wearing these.” She shoved her hand through the gap in the shower curtains. A pair of lacy black knickers dangled on the end of a pale finger. 

“How did you find those?” She squeaked. She tried to snatch them away, but the hand disappeared behind the curtain again. She turned off the water, ignoring the sound of cackling as she scrunched curl-enhancing cream into her hair. “I’m not wearing them,” she called. 

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around herself and headed into her bedroom. “Good god, has there been a tornado?” It looked as if half the clothing she owned was now on her bed or floor.

“Hmm? No, these are the ‘no’ piles. I have the top contenders out in the living room.”

The top contenders turned out to be about half a dozen dresses that were too revealing, many of which she suspected Ginny had transfigured; three skirt and blouse combos that she felt screamed Ministry Witch; and the red sweater dress she’d worn to Christmas. She let her mind drift back… 

_There was a rhythmic knock at the door. “Ginny, will you get that?” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from the kitchen. Every wall and banister of the Burrow had been hung with garland. Enchanted little figurines in red and green danced on every surface, and an enormous tree took up at least a third of the living room._

_“GINNY!”_

_“Um, I’ll get it, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione squeaked, hurrying over to the front door. She thought it was odd of him not to just use the floo, whichever Weasley brother this was. She pulled the door open. “Oh!” she breathed, taking in pewter colored eyes. How had she forgotten about him? Every paper in Wizarding Britain had written about Sirius Black’s inexplicable return from the Veil earlier that month, and she’d of course attended the huge welcome home party Harry and Ginny had thrown for him the following weekend. But she’d somehow failed to calculate that he would be here today._

_“Well hello there,” he smirked, cocking an eyebrow._

_She suddenly wondered if Sirius had always been so tall. They’d barely spoken to each other at the party, and she found herself taking him in now. He really didn’t seem to have aged in the veil, just like they said. She mused at how he and Professor Lupin had seemed so much older than them back in their Hogwarts days._ They were all just kids when Harry was born, _she thought._

_Her eyes flicked to his again and she was surprised to find them on her body. She had worn a fitted red sweater dress, and now she wondered if it was too short or tight for the occasion. His gaze roved slowly over her hips and waist before moving upward to linger on her chest._ He’s… he’s checking me out _, she realized. There was a small part of her that was offended, but she couldn’t recall being looked at with such approval by someone so…_ He really is quite attractive, _she admitted to herself, feeling her cheeks growing warm._

_He met her eyes again. A lock of dark hair had fallen onto the wrong side of his part, and she had the urge to reach up and correct it. His mouth slowly curved into a lopsided grin. His eyes drifted to her mouth as he spoke in a low voice, “And who do I have the pleasure of…”_

_And as he hesitated, it all clicked into place. He didn’t remember her._ _Of course he wouldn’t be looking at_ he _r that way._ _As if she hadn’t even congratulated him on his return at the party… now it was all_ ‘who the hell are you?’ _and_ ‘well hello there’?

_“Oh my god_ _, Hermione! Fuck.” He swept his_ _fingers through his hair. “Of course,” he tried to play it off with a laugh._

_She felt her stomach twist. He had checked her out, yes—when he hadn’t realized it was swotty little Hermione Granger he was looking at. She let out a huff. “Yes, Sirius,” she nearly mocked. “Glad to hear we both remember each other.”_

_“I’m… sorry,” he said, shifting his weight. “I thought you were someone else for a moment there.”_

_“Clearly,” she snarked. “Who, by the way?—what other witches would you expect to be at the Weasley’s family Christmas? Percy’s new girlfriend, perhaps, that you’d greet like that?”_

_His eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean ‘like that’? I was only asking for you to introduce yourself.” Even as he said it his cheeks were tinged with pink._

_“Oh, right,” she scoffed. “And I’m sure your_ eyes _were asking the same thing?” She crossed her arms over her chest for emphasis._

_He snorted. “Look, I apologize for not recognizing you—in that getup,” he waved a hand indicating her dress._

_“Getup?” she snapped. She glanced down at herself._ Has it gone out of fashion? 

_“Yes, and with your hair so, so different looking—”_

_“—what’s that supposed to mean?” Heat rose in her chest. It had been years since anyone had teased her for her hair. She thought she’d gotten the hang of it._ God knows it takes ages longer to properly style than perfectly disheveled fucking shiny black hair… 

_“Well you’ve clearly_ done _something to it—”_

_She couldn’t believe how badly she had misread the situation. If she hadn’t been so angry, she would have apparated home on the spot to spend the rest of the day in bed. But she_ was _angry. “This is just what normal bloody curly hair looks like, you arse!” she flashed._

_“Well the last time I saw you was a long time ago, and back then you looked like you’d been taking hair tips from Hagrid!”_

_“The last time you saw me was about ten days ago, you stupid prat!”_

_He scoffed loudly. “That’s obviously not what I meant! We barely spoke—Circe, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one—”_

_“—If you’re going to stand there insulting my looks and_ _my intelligence—”_

_“Yeah, I think you must be dense,” he nearly shouted, “because I’m saying you look fucking beautiful, alright?” He breathed a frustrated sigh. “I mean, your hair looks beautiful. You look… nice. You look bloody—nice, okay? And I’m sorry to have noticed.”_

_“I—” she closed her mouth, mind working. “Well. Thanks,” she said softly. Her brain tried to pick up the pieces of the strange thing that had just shattered between them._

_“You look nice too.”_

_His hand was in his hair again. He gave a pained laugh. Even when he was so uncomfortable he had a way of looking casual. She chided herself for noticing. “You know,” he began, “it’s… right jarring getting used to all this. When I saw Molly at the party I thought she was Ursulla Prewett.”_

_Hermione looked at him inquisitively, and he added, “It’s her aunt—used to be a friend of my mother’s. And Arthur’s gone completely bald overnight… but in my head it’s only weeks ago that we were still at war. You know? You lot are still supposed to be taking your O.W.L.S. But now Harry looks more like James than I think James_ _ever did, and Ron’s about a foot taller…”_

_And now she looked… bloody nice. She chewed her lip. “It must be really strange.”_

_He nodded. “I honestly couldn’t place you for a minute there, earlier. That was—” he closed his eyes “—inappropriate. Sorry.”_

_“And bloody rude,” she smirked playfully. “I’m sorry, though, too.”_

_A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You never used to swear, you know.”_

_She snorted. “Never used to dress up either, apparently. This is my clubbing outfit, you know,” she joked, pulling at the thick sweater dress._

_“You could do worse,” he sighed._

“Hermione?” Ginny asked, gesturing to the outfits laid across her couch. 

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking. Um, maybe the red one?”

After convincing her to swipe on a little mascara, Ginny gave Hermione a squeeze for luck and disappeared into the floo. Hermione was about to step in after her when she decided it might be too much to have changed into a dress. After all, it was Ginny who kept calling it a date. Sirius had never even used that word, and the last thing she wanted was to come off as desperate. She decided it would be best if she showed up in the same clothes she’d already been wearing. _Casual,_ she thought. She cast a cleaning charm on each garment and pulled on a fresh pair of cotton boyshorts. _It’s not as if he’s going to see these anyway,_ she thought. She regarded herself in the mirror, pulling the bunched fabric tighter across her hips. Then she stripped them off and summoned the lacy black knickers Ginny had found instead. 


	2. Grimmauld Place

Later that hour, Hermione was sipping wine with Sirius Black in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. They had laughed and joked and flirted so effortlessly she was feeling lighter than air. When he asked, “have you been well?” All she could think of was daisies and his silvery gray eyes and drinking Walburga’s wine while the two of them snickered conspiratorially. Then she realized he was looking at her like that. The way he had looked at her in their cell, on the mattress. 

The back of his hand touched hers and she wanted to reach for him, but she found herself frozen under his gaze. He brushed against her fingers once, twice, and she felt a flame light inside her. Her mind drifted back to his hungry eyes, his sure touch on her skin. 

“And…” his dark voice permeated her thoughts and she snapped back to the present. “Have you been _good_?” 

Hermione’s insides seemed to turn to liquid. A trickle of warm and dark half-formed thoughts fluttered into her mind. The room blurred slightly and she began to feel like her body was falling slowly backward. 

“Hey,” Sirius’ voice was close. “Alright?” 

She breathed out, searching for words. 

“Sorry, love, that was maybe a bit much,” he murmured. Feeling his hands on hers, she tried to focus on his face. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern. 

“What…” she shook her head. “Seriously, what the hell… you’re so good at that,” she mumbled. 

“I didn’t know…” he hesitated. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it would work so well.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. She searched his face for answers to the questions she didn’t know how to ask. Finally, after what might’ve been minutes, she asked, “why did you ask me to come over?”

He gave her hands another squeeze before sitting back in his chair. “Well that depends,” he began, reaching for his glass, “why do _you_ think I invited you here?” He watched her curiously over the rim as he sipped.

She searched for words. He was always so quick and clever with his, always taking the upper hand. “You wanted to pick my brain, wasn’t that it?” She raised her eyebrows, trying for playful. “If that means watching me squirm while you use this—this newfound power of yours to take advantage of me…”

“Hey,” his voice was soft. “I’m—you’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“What? No I didn’t actually mean—”

“Hermione,” he said, and the darkness and mischief was gone from his face. “You know I would never try to take advantage of you. Okay? I mean…” He looked at the floor between them. “Not again.”

She regretted her choice of words. “No, no. Come on, Sirius. I didn’t mean… that hardly counts. I don’t want you to think what happened between us makes you some kind of predator.”

He scoffed. 

“I told you I was consenting—” she began.

“—you were under duress—”

“—you were the one under duress!” she emphasized. “Lestrange never even spoke to me.”

He drained his glass, resuming his game of looking anywhere but at her. “It’s not the bloody same thing. You _can’t_ properly consent under those circumstances.”

“And yet you don’t extend the same logic to yourself! You had a literal wand to your head,” she countered. 

“I was worried about this,” he muttered, and she wondered how they’d already gotten so far from the flirting and dizziness. 

“What was… Sirius, why _did_ you ask me to come here?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to. Well, I was, then I wasn’t. But it was… good, seeing you at the Burrow.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “I thought… I don’t bloody know.” 

_That makes two of us_ , she thought. Then he started up again. “Look, even if Lestrange had asked me to do those particular things, in that way… it’s not like I was imperiused.” He took a long drink.

“But you did what you had to. We both did, and I’m very glad, considering the alternative... ” She thought of Lestrange’s beady eyes and wet lips.

Sirius clenched his jaw. “Right. But he never forced me to… touch you like that. He didn’t tell me, ‘try to figure out what makes her tick, and once you have that, yeah?—once you know, use that to your advantage until she’s not even thinking straight—’”

“—okay, that’s not even—those are my words, and I didn’t mean it like—”

“—he didn’t force me to make you finish,” he continued. 

“So, what, you’re upset because I enjoyed myself?” 

“No, I’m upset because _I_ did!” his palm hit the table.

_Oh_ , she thought. “So are you… ashamed? Or…”

“Hermione,” he said, sitting forward again to take her by the shoulders. “This isn’t about you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you,” she enunciated slowly, placing her hands on his knees. She squeezed, trying to make him understand.

His eyes fell away from hers, but his expression seemed to soften. She felt his thumbs begin to move in the smallest of strokes on her shoulders. The silence stretched between them until he dropped his hands and started up again, “It was wrong, though, for me to—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “—get into it like that. I hadn’t exactly meant to.” 

She shrugged. “So? What of it? Neither did I.” 

“See? So that’s not the least bit fucked up to you? Neither of us set out doing, or wanting to do anything like that until bloody Rodolphus Lestrange was involved.”

He had clearly had a lot of time to consider this over the last few days. She sipped thoughtfully. “I never liked sushi until I tried it.” 

He snorted. “Well you wouldn’t have known before that, yeah?”

“That’s kind of the point?” she raised her eyebrows.

“So am I the fucking sushi in this metaphor?”

“Don’t you like sushi?”

“Everyone bloody likes sushi,” he grumbled. “It just feels like…” He stood and went to withdraw a bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard over the sink. “It’s another failure. I let Pettigrew escape, got myself killed at the Ministry…” he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a generous amount. “Wasn’t there to save Moony either, or Tonks…” He had begun to cap the bottle before he turned back to her. “Want any? Or there’s more wine.”

“Sure, either,” she said. “But Sirius, I didn’t save Remus either. And neither did Harry, or McGonagall, or Kingsley. You can’t put all that on yourself.”

He brought both bottles to the table as he sat down again. “But this—I was there for this. I could have actually done something—it wasn’t even real Death Eaters this time,” he continued. “I should’ve been able to protect you.”

“But you did!” she insisted. “Didn’t you spare me from that nasty monster? What else could you have done, without a wand?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “And why am I the one that needs protecting? Rather sexist, isn’t it? I didn’t do much to protect you.” 

He smiled halfway, seeming to study her. “Look, I know you’re a grown woman. You run committees and you do charity events, and witches everywhere look up to you. It’s admirable. You’re amazing, and brilliant and lovely…” he took a long drink. “But also, to me, somewhere in there is a third year—a very bright one, mind you,—who is James’ son’s best friend.” 

“I knew you would get hung up on that,” she accused, pointing at him. 

“I’m not! It’s not that, exactly.” He huffed. “That’s not the way I still think of you. But it’s _a_ way I have thought of you. And it makes me feel like I’m supposed to look out for you. And I know you’ll be twenty six in November, but that means I’ve still got more than ten years on you.” She wondered then if he’d always known her birthday. 

“Okay, counterpoint,” she piped in. “Professor Lupin was thirteen years older than Tonks.” It was thirteen and a half, actually. She’d checked. 

“And knowing him, I’m sure he felt responsible for her, too. By the way, it really doesn’t help matters when you’re still calling him Professor.” 

Feeling she still hadn’t made her point, she pressed on, “well _Remus_ and Tonks were equals, when they were together. In fact I’m sure she did a fair bit of protecting him, too,” she pointed out, “being an Auror.”

“Well you’re not an Auror,” he said with a chuckle.

“I…” She faltered. “That wasn’t really the point. The point is…” she huffed. “Why can’t you just believe me?”

He laughed again. “So bossy.” He smirked into his glass and she felt a surge of triumph.

“Oh, I’m the bossy one? I thought I was very polite last week.” She watched him carefully. When he closed his eyes on a slow sigh, she dared herself to continue, “I said please, didn’t I?” She reached for his hand, and he took it. She held her eyes on his, but he was still looking at the table. Time might’ve stopped if it wasn’t for the slow brush of his thumb over her knuckles. She held her breath. 

Then he was letting go, pushing his chair back from the table, standing by the sink. She clenched her jaw. He opened a cupboard, staring inside for a moment before he closed it again.

“So which is it?” she was trying for playful, but her voice already sounded more annoyed than she’d hoped. “You’re upset because you didn’t Avada six Death Eaters with no wand? Or because you _‘defiled’_ me?” she exaggerated the word with an eye roll, “Or because we had an encounter and it wasn’t unpleasant?”

He ran his fingers through his hair with a groan. “Yes. All of it—I don’t know, okay? There’s a lot of fucking angles, for me.”

She considered him. “Have you seen a therapist?”

“In the last five days?” he asked sarcastically.

“I just had an appointment on Friday, actually,” she retorted. “But no, I meant, at all. Since the war. Since you _died_.”

“Hadn’t thought much about it,” he shrugged.

“Well, you should. Didn’t they give you any resources at the intake? The Aurors gave me a whole booklet of information. The Ministry’s even paying for twelve weeks of counselling.”

“Rings a bell,” he waved a hand. “But I don’t think I _need_ to…”

She rolled her eyes. “Wizards always say that.”

“You really just saw one? After we got out?” he asked.

“Yes, ‘one’. She’s a therapist, not a Nargle.”

“I understand the concept. And you told her about what happened?”

“Yes,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“More?” he asked, gesturing to the bottles. 

She didn’t realize she had finished her glass already. “You’re trying to keep me here?” asked with a smile.

“What?” his eyes were wide. “No, you’re free to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“Sirius, I _know_ that. I just meant, you’re not wanting to get rid of me?”

“Why would I want to be rid of you?” 

She sighed. This was going to be a long night. 

By the next time they refilled their whiskeys they had moved topics, and were now deep into wizarding world gossip. 

“But Bulgaria won’t stand a chance against them with Ferwin and MacDougall on their team this year,” Sirius was rambling.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, listening politely.

“Too much broom talk? What about if Krum was still playing for them, then would your interest be piqued?” he winked.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a bit of a ‘been there, done that’ situation for me.”

He laughed. “Rather nonchalant, this one. Best seeker in our time, but she’s already _done that_ ,” he emphasized to no one. 

Hermione shrugged, putting her feet up on the empty chair.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Was… you know what, never mind.”

“What?”

“Maybe another time,” he chuckled.

“Come on! _Now_ you’ve piqued my interest. Go ahead, I’m an open book,” she laughed.

“Well, it is a bit…” he gave her a look. “Personal.”

Her stomach fluttered momentarily. “So… top me off again, and then ask.”

He grinned, summoning the bottle. “Was he—Krum, was he also into… you know,” he waved his wand to pour, keeping his eyes on hers, “dirty talk?”

The thought of Viktor attempting to get her off with his broken English was enough to make her nearly choke with laughter. “First of all, that was _definitely_ personal!” she giggled, when she had regained herself. “You’re lucky you thought to ask while I’m tipsy, Black.”

His eyes glinted. “Just tipsy? I’ve only heard you call me Black that time at Merlin’s when you got pissed. Or when you’re pissed off,” he smirked. 

“I’ve only had two!”

“And the wine,” he pointed out. “And how much butterbeer at the Weasley’s before this?”

“That hardly counts. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re being a bit of a buzzkill, Sirius.”

“No, no, don’t let me stand in your way. I just want you to understand how drunk you are, now that you’re about to tell me how Krum talks in the bedroom.”

She let out a peal of laughter. “No, he did not talk dirty! God, can you imagine it, with his accent?” But watching him snicker, she felt a stab of protectiveness for her old friend. “But please, don’t ever mention this to anyone.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried about it coming up,” he grinned.

“He’s really such a sweetheart. He was willing to try lots of other more physical stuff, which was actually really good.”

Sirius’ eyes seemed to glaze over momentarily before he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

She watched him curiously, feeling the firewhiskey burn in her belly.

He reached for her hand on the table, then stopped short and rested his next to hers instead. When she met his eyes again they were dark. “I…” he paused, then shook his head. “I think you should go.”

“What?” she blinked.

“Yeah,” he rasped. 

_Just when things are starting to feel nice again?_ “But… we still have drinks to finish,” she tried.

He looked at their glasses, shaking his head.

“I don’t understand. Did I upset you?” 

He stood up with a nervous chuckle. “No. But it’s late,” he said, stepping back from the table. “And we’ve had a lot to drink, whether you admit it or not. So. Can you apparate? Or… I suppose you could take your old bedroom for the night.” He rubbed his temples. “No, no, I think you should probably go home.”

“I… okay? I think I could just use the floo, yeah?”

“Right,” he shook his head. “So you get yourself home, and I’ll get a fucking brain.”

She hummed. “Or a therapist.”

\------------------

Hermione stepped into her living room, forgetting that she had left it such a mess. She decided to clean up the clothes in the morning. She went to wash up, charming the makeup off her eyelids. As she was twirling her hair into a bun for sleeping, she felt something hot on her thigh. She remembered the enchanted Galleon and pulled it out of her pocket. 

The curved letters along the top that normally spelled ‘ _Unum Galleon’_ now read ‘ _All ok?’_

She took out her wand and tapped to change the message. ‘ _Just home safe.’_

The coin warmed again as she held it. _‘Good time?’_

She held her wand, wondering how to word her next message with the limited space. Just then, she heard a tapping at her window. 

_At this hour?_ she wondered.

The owl was dark grey with a round face. She thought it looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure from where. _Maybe…_ she let herself wonder. She flung the window open with her wand, grabbing a treat from the jar. “Hi there, sweet boy,” she cooed, untying the message. 

_Sorry to have rushed you out. Glad you came. Can we talk again soon?_

_S_

She reread the parchment three times. Each time she felt the corners of her mouth pull further upwards. She reached for a quill.


	3. The Ministry Wizard

That Tuesday morning found Sirius at 528 Diagon Alley. He was discussing the final invoice with Magarchitecht Callen Merrick for the office. _His_ office, he had to remind himself. After spending its fledgeling months headquartered in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, the Black Association for Muggle-born Youths, or B.A.M.B.Y., now had a proper home of its own. It was comfortable, not too ornate; just a cozy reception area and five small offices with window views. Nevermind that they had no receptionist yet, or that two of the offices were still vacant—it was good to have room to grow. The office was upstairs from Madame Malkins’ Robes, not far from the Leakey but also rather centrally located in the alley. It was perfect.

Sirius had returned from the veil four months earlier with nothing but his name—which was easily cleared, thank god, with Shacklebolt at the helm of the Ministry. His inheritance, home, and possessions had all passed to Harry when he died. Then, when the veil fell and spit him back out again, the boy tried to push these suffocating relics of his old life onto him again. The photos, his clothes, his bike; these he held close, ever grateful that Harry had kept them in his absence. But the rest he’d just as soon have done without. He’d much rather have rented his room at the Leaky for the rest of his new life than set foot in his childhood home again. But Harry and the rest of them had cleaned and decorated and made such a grand fuss of it all that he decided to stay at Grimmauld Place, at least for the time being. 

As for the gold, it was humiliating enough being given a large sum of money by someone you still think of as a boy, a nephew almost. And it didn’t help that these were Black Galleons, earned by generations of blood purists who did nothing but snap their haughty fingers at their elves. He and Harry had fought over it for weeks. At first it was competitive, almost fun. The Potters would sneak sacks of it into his bathtub after a dinner, and Sirius would have it delivered to Harry’s office the next day. Eventually it got more heated, though, until one late night at the Burrow he’d raised his voice in a way he hadn’t meant to, and Harry had surprised him by shouting back. It was, as usual, Hermione, who’d posed a neat solution that would put both the gold and himself to work. 

Sirius hadn’t had a particularly strong interest in charity work before this, and the explosion of endowments, volunteering, and general goodwill in the first few years after the war had already done so much for wizarding Britain. But the Black family name on a Muggle-born charity was completely irresistible to him. They all came up with the name B.A.M.B.Y. together that evening, and from there it began to fall into place.

Justin Finch-Fletchley had signed on in the first week, and Mary Cattermole joined soon after as director of policy. And bless her—with Sirius’ compulsion to give every one of his family’s Galleons to a Muggle-born child and Finchley’s easygoing attitude, they would’ve gone bankrupt the first month. Mary’s head for numbers turned out to be almost as useful as her fully Muggle-born background. Finchley’s press outreach had gotten them a steady trickle of donations to bolster their treasury, and they were on track to completely fund the supplies for all of the Muggle-born first years bound for Hogwarts that fall. 

With the organization finally on its feet, Sirius felt justified to pursue a personal goal he’d been neglecting. “Callen,” he said, signing the invoice and handing it back to the Magarchitect. “I don’t suppose you do residential construction and designs as well?”

“Oh, aye,” came his lilting Scottish accent. “Merrick, LLC does it all,” he nodded. 

“Excellent. I’m thinking of selling my house and building something from scratch.”

“Certainly,” he nodded again. “How soon d’you reckon?”

“How soon can you start?” 

Sirius was just seeing Callen out when he heard the sound of the floo activating. He walked over to the fireplace, where Harry’s head was floating in the green flames. 

“Harry, old boy. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“No, I’m at the office too. Looks good in there,” he said, peering around at the waiting room. “So, Gin and I are going to get lunch before the interview. Wondered if you wanted to come along?”

“Ah, right. That’s today.” Sirius had about had his fill of the damn _Prophet_ over the last few months. It wasn’t so bad when it was on his terms—the publicity had been a great help to getting B.A.M.B.Y. off the ground—but he knew this story about he and Hermione’s recent kidnapping was more likely going to be along the lines of the sensationalist write ups that god awful Skeeter witch had done in December. _Man or Myth: The Wizard Who Returned from the Veil_ came to mind. 

His disdain must’ve been showing, because Harry said, “Come on, you know it’ll be good for morale. People want to read about how we snuffed out the Death Eaters once and for all.”

“Well I didn’t have much to do with that, but it should be good for Ron’s ego,” he grinned. 

“Very,” Harry smiled back. “So, meet us at Mortimer’s at half past?”

Sirius arrived late, as was his custom. He scanned the crowded pub for Ginny’s red hair, but his eyes landed instead on a familiar head of dark curls. Harry, Ginny and Ron were at the table with her. _Should have realized they’d all be here,_ he thought, feeling a tightness in his stomach. Though nothing new had happened between them two days ago, it felt strange to see her laughing with her friends in the sunny window after that long evening they’d spent dancing around each others’ words in his kitchen.

He pulled out the chair across from her, next to Harry. As they all made their greetings, he couldn’t help but notice the look of surprise on her face. Maybe she hadn’t counted on him being here either. 

“Well,” Harry said, looking across the table. “Now that you two are both here, I just have to say it.” He looked down at the table, and Sirius held his breath as he waited for him to continue.

Ginny reached for her husband’s hand under the table as she took over for him. “After Harry read the full report yesterday, and I know it’s not really allowed, but of course he told me about everything that happened…” 

Sirius’ heart thudded loudly in his chest. Everything? The full report? _They aren’t supposed to have access to the full report._ He chanced a glance at Hermione, and her eyes were wide. 

“We just wanted to tell you two,” Harry cleared his throat, “again, how grateful we are. For what you went through in that cell.” Sirius kept his gaze fixed on the table, feeling his eyebrows climb steadily toward his hairline.

“Yeah,” Ron added, “I mean, over three dozen Stinging Jinxes in a row, by your estimate, Hermione? Blimey.” There was a bubble of nervous, high pitched laughter across the table, and he wondered if she had the same anxiety.

Harry picked up where Ron had left off, “I understand the Healers had a lot of work to do patching you guys back up afterwards. All kinds of hexes and curses… it must’ve been awful. You really didn’t have to sit through all of that just for us.” 

“But we’re very grateful you did,” Ginny finished. 

Sirius let out a breath. _Maybe they aren’t talking about the showers or… the other part_ , he thought. His eyes flicked up and he saw Ginny’s other hand was on Hermione’s. Her expression seemed to relax. _Of course, he doesn’t have access to the private files,_ he reminded himself. 

Hermione still hadn’t said anything, so Sirius answered, “It was nothing. Don’t even worry about it, mate.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder.

She smiled across the table, joining in, “you would’ve done the same for us. For Sirius, or—or me, if either of us was on the other end.” And her cheeks had that lovely pink tinge on them. 

“Right.” Sirius smiled. “So. Glad we got all the heartfelt stuff out of the way now, so there’s none left for the _Prophet_ , yeah?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry grinned.

“Speaking of, where’s the server?” Ginny asked. “I’m starving.”

“Dunno,” said Ron, scanning the busy pub, “but I ordered that round awhile ago.”

“Why don’t you go check on it and add a drink for Sirius too?” Hermione said.

A smile threatened at the edge of his mouth. “Don’t worry about me…” 

“Sorry, mate, I’ll go tell them to put another one on,” Ron said, getting up from the table. “Butterbeer?”

“Thanks,” he nodded, directing it at Hermione. 

Harry started to get up as well. “I need the loo,” he said to Ginny, “will you get me the Ploughman's and crisps if she comes?” He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and an image of James and Lily shimmered across Sirius’ mind.

“So,” Ginny said, looking across the table. “What else is new? Oh, Hermione!” she lowered her voice slightly. “Your big date with the Ministry guy! You never told me, how was it? Did he like that red dress?” she winked.

Sirius was as surprised as Hermione looked. _Big date with the Ministry guy?_ Her eyes darted from his to Ginny’s as she struggled to string a sentence together. “I—it… Ginny, you weren’t supposed to…”

He felt his stomach drop. Color bloomed on her cheeks as Ginny looked at her curiously. “What? They can’t hear us,” she tilted her head in the direction the boys had just walked. “And Sirius doesn’t work at the Ministry. You’re not going to tell anyone, are you Sirius? Hermione’s been having a fling thing with a bloke from her work…”

His mind spun, repeating Ginny’s words back to him. _Red dress? Fling thing with a bloke from work…_

“It’s not, no, it’s—” she was saying, “—God, Ginny! Not just Ministry people—I didn’t want you to tell _anyone._ ” Of course, she wouldn’t want him to know about this. She looked from him to her friend, her eyes pleading. 

Ginny’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh! Sorry! I just thought… since Harry and Ron work there… I figured—oh, come on, Sirius probably doesn’t even know the guy. He won’t say anything, right?” she looked to him. 

“You know what, I was going to use the loo too. So you guys go ahead and catch up. Don’t worry, mum’s the word.”

He gave a tight smile as he passed Harry on his way to the toilet. There was a bloke waiting outside the door already, and Sirius shifted on his feet as he waited in line. He tried to think of the pub, the interview, the loo—anything else, but an image of Hermione in a short red dress on the arm of some wanker from Magical Games and Sports was coming clearly into focus in his mind. It shouldn't have been surprising. _Not like anyone else has some claim on her,_ he sighed to himself. He was beginning to wonder how close of a relationship a ‘fling thing’ was, when her voice came.

“Sirius…” Her eyes were wide. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve known Ginny has the biggest mouth in the world.” 

She must’ve been upset to follow him here. _All because her little secret got out?_ He tried for cavalier, shrugging, “don’t worry about it.”

The door swung open as an elderly wizard exited the loo. “The ladies’ is over there,” he pointed, scowling at Hermione.

“Perfect,” she chirped. The line moved up and they were alone in the narrow hallway, but she kept her voice low all the same. “The whole _Ministry guy_ thing—I only, well, I had to give her some explanation for why he was—you know, had to be secret…”

He really didn’t want to stand here like some idiot while she went on about her romantic life. “You know what, it’s great, Hermione. He sounds like a real catch.”

She let out a soft snort. “He’s really humble too.” 

“Sounds like I wouldn’t get along too well with this bloke,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. He tried to amend it with a wink, but that felt too snarky. A memory of Molly Weasley telling him to ‘ _just grow up already’_ came to his mind. 

A look of confusion crossed Hermione’s face. “Wait, do you… know who we’re talking about?” she asked. 

He let out a puff of air, considering for a moment before he decided it would be worse to know who. “Just relax, okay? I won’t tell anyone.” 

The door opened again and Sirius stepped inside, leaving her in the hall. He ran the tap absently, looking at his reflection. _You’re not actually jealous, are you?_ he thought, shaking his head. She was young and lovely and brilliant; if he’d finally noticed there were surely others. _But didn’t she say she wasn’t seeing anyone?_ Unless it had all happened this past week. She’d found herself someone to help her paint over that whole experience. And she’d worn a dress. She’d been wearing jeans in his kitchen. _Not that that has to mean anything._

Then he remembered that he’d be seeing her again on Thursday. _Unless she cancels after this_ , he sighed. He laughed, shaking his head at himself. Who was _he_ to be bothered that she was playing the pitch a bit? Even after what they’d been through, what did it mean in the real world? And then he’d done nothing but push her away after. He turned off the tap, taking a long breath. It would be fine. They’d finish lunch, do the _Prophet,_ and he could always bring it up casually when he saw her next, if it was even still bothering him by then. He made a last once-over of his appearance. _And what the_ fuck _is a fling thing?_ Sirius slammed the door on his way out. 

He spent the rest of lunch ruminating on his thoughts, and before long, they were at the _Prophet_ headquarters. Rita Skeeter led them to a large conference room where Gawain Robards and a couple of other Aurors who had been part of the rescuing team were already waiting. Skeeter withdrew a Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment and dove into the interview. Most of her questions were directed at Sirius or Hermione, but Robards cut in almost every time to tell her that the information was classified. Harry was humble, grateful. Rita’s quill scratched. Ginny kept an arm drawn protectively across her belly. Ron acted the hero in an endearing way. When Robards wasn’t telling them not to answer, Hermione did most of the talking for the two of them.

They finished, with Skeeter promising more interviews after the trial was over and details declassified. Then she was whisking them off to the Ministry for photographs. The lift opened at level two, and she led them to the Auror Headquarters. 

Skeeter arranged them in front of Robards’ office, “just like when you finished up your witness statements,” as she put it. Harry quipped that he and Ginny were, of course, not there while the rest had given statements, but she tutted at him, smoothing his hair. “You two, and this _invaluable_ child,” she dripped, gesturing at Ginny’s belly, “are at the very center of this story. Come on now, let’s—yes, let’s put you in the middle, here.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at this, catching Sirius’ for a moment before she nervously looked away again. After a few group photos, Skeeter looked from Ron to Hermione. “How about a few of you two—the brave young Auror who rescued his ex girlfriend?” She turned her glittering eyes to Hermione. 

“Um…” Ron’s mouth opened and closed.

“I don’t think we need that shot,” Hermione said, her voice sounding high. 

“Oh, just a few,” she insisted.

When Hermione didn’t move, Skeeter’s thin lips pulled into a pout. “Come now, think of our poor readers—the kids who saved the whole world from You-Know-Who have been up to some big, exciting stuff. You don’t want to be the one that stands in the way of them reading this heartwarming story, do you?”

Sirius scoffed. “It’s exciting being kidnapped, is it? She already said no. We’ve been through enough in the last week.”

Skeeter arched a brow at him. “Alright,” she said, but her quill began scratching away at the parchment over her shoulder. She dismissed all the Aurors but Harry. “Well, one shot we’ll definitely need is just the Potters.” She began to pull Ginny by the arm. “And The Baby Who Lived. Is it going to be a boy or a girl?” 

Sirius grinned proudly when neither answered her. The cameras flashed at the Potters Who Lived while Skeeter tugged their bodies into various poses. 

“Does she have to yank them around like that?” Hermione muttered to him, suddenly close. 

He offered a light snort, still watching Harry and Ginny. “Sorry if I was, you know, speaking for you, there,” he said. “She just makes my skin crawl.”

She chuckled. “I completely agree. Please, feel free to repeat anything negative I have to say to her, as loudly as possible.”

He laughed, and their eyes met again. 

They were momentarily distracted as Skeeter demonstrated a pose thrusting out her belly, indicating for Ginny to do the same. She kept giving the older witch a confused look, making Skeeter exaggerate the pose further. Harry turned away from them, a hand clapped over his mouth. 

Soon the Potters were sent on their way and it was their turn to be photographed. Skeeter positioned them side by side, smiling at them with too many teeth. The camera flashed. “So, it must have been very frightening to be kidnapped by Death Eaters again, wasn’t it?”

“They’re actually called Neo-Death Eaters now,” Hermione corrected. They both knew no one really used the term, but he smiled at the correction nonetheless.

“Of course. And it must’ve been, well, torturous, wasn’t it?”  
Sirius snapped, “You know bloody well we can’t talk about any of that until the trial’s over.” He saw the Quick-Quotes Quill burst into activity again even as she offered her weak apology. 

“Right, I think I’m done here,” he said.

\------------------

Later that night, Hermione sat at her dining room table, staring at a piece of parchment. 

_Dear Sirius, I’m sorry again about–_

She magicked the ink off the page and started over. 

_S, Good seeing you today. Hope I wasn’t too—_

She sucked the end of her quill and decided to wipe the page clean again. 

_Hey Sirius, Good to see you today. Still on for Thursday? I know a great Muggle Place where we can have a bit of privacy—_

_Hey Sirius, meet me at 38 Poland St in Soho? It’s Muggle, so we won’t be seen, but the food is excellent. Noon on Thursday? Looking forward to seeing you again. -H_

~~_P.S. I have to ask, you DO know the ‘Ministry guy’ is one Mr. S. Black, right?_ ~~

She chuckled, erasing the post-script. _Obviously he knows,_ she thought and sent the letter off.


	4. Fucking Bach?

Sirius peeled at the label on his bottle. He didn’t remember Muggle beer tasting like this; it wasn’t half bad, actually. He’d considered cancelling with Hermione several times since the _Prophet_ interview two days ago. Let her have fun with her new bloke. He would find someone else and do the same. He’d been meaning to get around to it anyway, ever since the Muggle shopkeeper he’d met in February didn’t last long. Liza had been coming to his mind throughout the last week. A surrogate; something safer. 

He’d tried to imagine pressing her wrists to the counter after hours, taking her in the record store, making her his. He didn’t have to know her well to know she’d never have gone for any of that. And his stupid brain kept replacing the image with Hermione and her Ministry date anyway. He’d pictured her asking him for all the things she wanted. Would he be able to make her go all soft and dark the way Sirius had? And what if he went too far and hurt her? He was beginning to feel almost competitive about the whole thing. 

He glanced at the clock. It was nine minutes past, not at all like her. The waitress approached the table again. “Sir? Are you ready to order yet?” she asked. 

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m still waiting on someone.” She nodded, and as she turned away he saw her raise an eyebrow. “I got here early,” he muttered defensively to the table.

Just then, he heard the little bells jingling on the door as it opened. She was wearing a smart white top with a dark blue skirt. It wasn’t short, but a little tight around her hips. She had twisted her hair up into a prim little bun on top of her head. He would’ve preferred her curls, but this allowed him a view of her neck instead. As she walked toward his table he watched her tuck a stray wispy ringlet behind her ear. Places he’d kissed and whispered against. _God, this witch will be the death of me_. 

“I’m so, so sorry I’m late,” she said as she slid out of her jacket. He almost got up to pull her chair out for her, but thought better of it. “I took a taxi—Muggle transportation—, to get here, just to be safe, but we got stuck in traffic.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Can I get you a drink? You might like one of these, it’s an I-P-A called the Witch’s Brew,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. 

“I’d better just stick to water,” she smiled. 

They both ordered the fish and chips, at Hermione’s recommendation. 

“My treat?” he found himself asking. 

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

“It was my idea,” he insisted.

“It was _my_ idea,” she argued, and he bit back a smile at the indignant tone her voice was already taking.

“Well the place, yeah, but I’m the one that invited you out again.”

She briefly narrowed her eyes at him, then seemed to collect herself. “Fine, but I’ll get the next one.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched as he let himself think about next ones. “So, what’s good at the Ministry?” 

“Oh, not much,” she shrugged. “I’m going to apply for a position in the Department of Mysteries. It’s a lateral move, but there would be more room for advancement.”

“Do you ever get tired of advancing all the time?”

“No,” she shrugged.

He laughed at her straightforwardness. “Going to apply—but you haven’t yet? Waiting on someone to proofread your CV?”

She chuckled, a merry little sound low in her chest. “Hmm, are you offering?” And the thought of working together on a project pulled at him, a new twinge for something he hadn’t known he wanted. 

“I’m pretty good with a quill,” he shrugged.

“Is that so?” she asked. He nodded and she continued, “Have you ever even written a CV? You haven’t exactly had… well, a job, have you?”

“What, being president of a growing new charity doesn’t count as employment?”

“Alright, fair, but you didn’t have to submit a resume for that one,” she challenged, brown eyes sparkling. 

“Read quite a few, though, so really I’m offering you a unique angle, here, Granger.” He could do this all day. 

“Hmm, so _that’s_ what you do at B.A.M.B.Y.—check up on other peoples’ contributions to the organization?” she arched her brows. 

“Lots of that,” he nodded, “and I do all of the hobnobbing with potential donors.”

“Wining and dining—must be exhausting,” she laughed, and he joined her. He didn’t care what she did when she wasn’t with him, as long as they could still banter like this. 

“Just because I don’t work nine-to-five like you Ministry folk doesn’t mean I’m not making a meaningful contribution to society,” he mock-lectured.

“It is,” she conceded, smiling over the rim of her water glass, “meaningful.” He tried to remember when this woman’s approval had begun to register as anything to note. The waitress interrupted to set down two steaming plates on the table. 

Sirius bit into a piece of cod. “Oh fuck,” he said, chewing. “That’s good.”

“Isn’t it?” She brightened. “Best Muggle place in the city.”

They ate in relative silence, looking up over their food to catch the other’s eye now and again. He took a swig of his beer. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for being so… hot and cold the other night,” he said, choosing his words. “I think you’re right, there’s still a lot of stuff I didn’t have much of a chance to think through yet. But…” _But now that I know there’s some bloke probably doing all manner of terrible things to you already, I’d like to reconsider._

“You don’t have to apologize. I was probably too…” she trailed off.

“You weren’t, though.” He said, leveling his gaze at her. “Just right, I think.” He felt his mouth curving into a smile.

She looked into her glass. “Well,” she breathed, “we went through a lot last week. So let’s not even worry about it.” _Don’t worry about it, because it didn’t even matter to me. I’ve got another date later tonight anyway,_ his mind finished for her. 

“So,” he tried to stop himself from saying. “Got any other big dates coming up this weekend?”

A blush immediately began to spread on her cheeks. “God,” she said, looking down at her lap. “I still feel like such a fool about that—that wording. I promise, _she_ was the only one using the word ‘date’.”

“Who?” he asked, confused.

“Ginny.”

“Oh.” He tried to remember exactly what it was Ginny had said about all this.  
  
“Yeah, I—obviously I shouldn’t have told her anything.” She rolled her eyes. “It just sort of came out while she was helping me, um…” she shook her head. “Pick out a dress,” she said quietly. “Which sounds so stupid now. I didn’t actually end up wearing it, obviously.”

“Obviously…” he repeated, not following. So she hadn’t worn a dress for him after all? He wondered if that changed things. She gave a little smile but didn’t say anything. She was acting so strange about it all. _Maybe Ginny did get it wrong,_ he let himself hope. “And you wouldn’t use the word date, to describe this… rendezvous with your Ministry wizard?”

“Oh, he’s _my_ Ministry wizard now, is he?” she said, giving him a shy smile.

“Well he’s certainly not mine…”

She tilted her head, trying to figure him out. 

“You still haven’t answered.”

“Sorry,” she said, raising her eyebrows playfully. “Can you repeat the question?”

Her mouth and her face were saying such different things. “Your Ministry fellow,” he said, and she smiled again. “Have you been going on dates with him? Or would you say it’s just… friendly?”

She smoothed her hair, “Well, he’s been terribly cryptic. I guess I’d say I don’t know. There was clearly some flirtation happening.” _Wonderful._ For all of the countless times he’d involuntarily pictured the mystery man fucking her, he’d never imagined them just casually flirting. It was somehow worse, if that was possible. “Would you?” she was asking.

“Would I?” 

“Yeah.” She was blushing furiously.

“Would I what?”

“Would you…” she sighed. “Would you have used that word. Date.” 

He looked at her, trying to understand. “ _I_ don’t know. What… why does it matter what I think?” Was it possible this was some other kink of hers? Some kind of verbal exhibitionism, talking about her escapades with other people? 

She huffed. “You are such a bloody puzzle, Sirius.” _That makes two of us,_ he thought. Her face was on her lap again, but she flicked a quick smile up at him from under her lashes. He sighed. 

“So,” she seemed to search for a change of subject, “what did you think about our article in the _Prophet_?”

“Ah, you mean Harry and Ginny’s?” he said. She laughed, and he found himself forgiving her for everything. 

“The Family Who Lived,” she added with a smirk.

“You should take over writing headlines.”

“With the way that stupid quill was scratching on and on I was a bit worried, but…” She was struggling with a bottle of curry sauce, and just as she shook it a large glob shot out. Most of it landed on her plate, but a spray of orange-red droplets now covered half of her shirt.

“Oh bloody hell,” she laughed. “Great idea to wear white to eat greasy pub fare.”

“I meant to tell you, you look great today.”

“Well I look really great now, don’t I?” she said, trying to clean herself off with napkins. “Thanks, though,” she smiled. “You look nice too. Obviously.” 

_Obviously._ Things were always so obvious to Hermione Granger. “I could get that for you,” he said, sliding his wand out of his pocket and into his sleeve under the table.

She narrowed her eyes impishly at him. “I’ve got a wand this time, I can fix my own clothes.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Just offering,” he said, holding his hands up innocently.

She headed to the loo and returned a moment later, free from curry. 

“Do you mind if we take the rest to go? There’s a cute little park nearby I wanted to show you,” she smiled. 

With their fish and chips stashed in the back of Sirius’ motorbike, Hermione led them to a quaint little patch of green along the Thames. They claimed a bench, and he was pleased when she followed his lead in turning inward so they were nearly facing each other.

“My mum always used to take me here after my violin lessons,” she said, looking out over the water.

“Oh yeah? Never knew you could play.” He tried to picture it.

“Oh, I can’t,” she corrected with a giggle. “I was terrible. Begged them to let me quit when I was about nine. How about you, did you play any instruments?”

“Piano,” he shrugged. “Age four, ‘til about… fifth year?” 

“Really? I can’t picture that at all. Electric guitar, maybe.”

“Yes! I always said you were bloody brilliant,” he said, taking her arm. “You have no idea how much I wanted to play guitar.”

“It seemed very ‘you’,” she shrugged.

“Funny story, that. I actually bought one once, but I didn’t realize you need electricity—”

“—The name wasn’t any clue?” she laughed.

“I… okay that’s a fair point,” he laughed. “But I was only about fourteen at the time, hadn’t even really heard the word before. But I found this charm that was supposed to mimic electricity, yeah?”

“Uh oh,” she said, covering her mouth.

“Yeah. Ended up blowing a hole through my bedroom wall and the hallway on the other side.” He could still hear Walburga screaming about it.

“Amazing,” she was laughing, and he felt warm. “How about piano, were you any good at that?” 

“Oh yeah, I suppose. I did Bach, Mozart, all that stodgy old stuff,” he waved. 

“You know, it’s funny picturing a little wizarding boy playing all the same stuff Muggles have to learn.”

He considered. “Bit funnier that Muggles played them, isn’t it? Being wizarding composers…”

“They were?” she exclaimed.

“See you have this look on your face that’s saying, ‘I’m going to be polite right now, but the second I get out of here I need to find a library and research that for myself.’

She laughed, looking guilty. “No! I’m just surprised. I never knew.”

“Sure,” he said, raising his eyebrows. 

She gave him a playful slap on the arm, and he was falling into her dark eyes. “The story goes that Bach dropped out of Durmstrang to pursue composition.” 

“That’s mad,” she said, shaking her head.

He chuckled. “Sounds like there’s a lot I could teach you.” He watched her as he tried tracing a finger over the bare skin of her wrist. 

“I’d like that,” she said quietly. He thought about kissing her then, tasting her and holding her and telling her to take the rest of the day off and come home with him. Then Rodolphus Lestrange was in his mind. He blinked. 

“Let’s see, what else,” he said, bringing himself back to his slow touch on her skin. “Tchaikovsky, too, he was a wizard.”

“I actually knew about him,” she said. “My parents couldn’t believe it when I told them. We used to listen to the Nutcracker every Christmas.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, I actually like his stuff too. It’s nice to think of you at your family Christmas. Bit quieter than the Weasleys?”

“A bit,” she laughed. “So who else was a wizard?” 

“Let’s see, those are all the composers I can think of…” he tried to think of the things she would know. Give her a chance to brag. “Well you’d know about Jane Austen, of course?” He let his fingers trace higher, up under the sleeve of her jacket.

“Yes,” she said. She bit her lip, and he wanted to do the same.

“Virginia Woolf—”

“No!”

“—was a Muggle, sorry, but a brilliant one,” he smirked. “Just figured you’d have read her.”

“And you have?” she asked skeptically.

He cleared his throat. “I’m—familiar with some of her work.” Buffing would end badly. “But no, maybe you could recommend a starting point for me?”

“Ooh.” Her eyes held that bright sparkle again as she listed off titles. “Well there’s _Mrs Dalloway_ , of course. I really liked _To the Lighthouse_ , too, and _The Waves_ is just pure poetry…”

“That one sounds good. Maybe you could help me track down a copy, say… this weekend?” He let his fingers encircle her wrist, brushing against the soft underside. 

She paused, then said, “So you can pick my brain again, is that it?” It sounded a little cool. 

“Well, unless you have something better to do?” Again she hesitated, and he began to think it might be true. “Do you have a date with your Ministry bloke?” he tried to keep the challenge playful.

She stared at him blankly. “I guess I don’t know yet, do I?” she said slowly. “I just really wish _he—_ ” she emphasized the word, “—wouldn’t be so bloody coy about it, yeah? I just want to know if it’s an actual date or not.” She gave him a pointed look.

He shook his head. “Are you talking about me or him?” 

“Wait. What?”

“Your Ministry wizard?” 

She was looking at him in a way that made him feel very stupid. “Are you serious? I’m… sitting with my bloody Ministry wizard right now.”

He fought the urge to look around. 

“Who did you think it was?” she was asking, as his brain struggled to catch up. 

“Well,” his mouth felt dry. “Ginny said… you’d been seeing someone at the Ministry. And that you had a date, and you wore—some dress,” he waved. _Red. Mid-thigh, low cut and extremely tight,_ he was pretty sure she’d mentioned. 

“Oh my god, I was worried about this!” she put her face in her hands. “Oh my god. You thought—but you seemed so…” She was laughing, and he began to feel light.

“So this whole time—” he said.

“—I tried to explain it to you! I just _told_ her it was someone from work, but… Sirius, god, we are so bloody stupid. It’s you.” She grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled him to her. Her lips were so soft, but the kiss was spirited, hard almost as she tried to prove her point. She pulled back to laugh at him again, and he felt his face split into a grin. 

He leaned in another inch, a question, and she moved to kiss him again. Hermione Granger was kissing him and he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t levitating them both into the sky as she did it. She grazed his lip slightly with her teeth and he sighed a low “Mmmh.” He didn’t know why this would be unexpected, from the girl who liked all the other rough and hard and pushy things. He felt his jeans tighten over his lap even at the thought. 

His hand went to her neck. He swept his tongue over her lip and she opened her pretty, sweet mouth for him. _Fucking Bach?_ Why hadn’t he been kissing her this whole time? He should’ve stolen her away during the photoshoot. Could’ve been snogging her senseless in his kitchen instead of explaining how wrong she was. It was so clear now, from the little sighs coming from her throat, how they were supposed to be doing exactly this. 

Her hand came up to his wrist and he eased off of her. She was breathing heavily, looking at him from half-lidded eyes. He grinned at her again, and she giggled breathlessly. It turned into a full throated laugh, and he joined in, still reviewing it all in his mind. 

“So, am I the stupidest fucking man in Britain?” he laughed. 

“No, no,” she giggled. “It’s my fault—this whole time I thought you were just being, you know, cool, and coy, and calling yourself the ‘ _Ministry guy_ ’…” she emphasized the words, giving him a look.

“Well, Ginny fucking Weasley said there was a Ministry guy!”

“Potter,” she corrected, shaking her head. “God, you thought—” Her brows drew together in concern. “And I just kept going on and on about him,” she burst into giggles again. 

“Well it did sound like you liked him pretty well,” he defended, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s alright,” she smiled.

If he hadn’t been so relieved he might’ve been feeling the effects of complete embarrassment by now. He felt an urge to take back the narrative—show her how competent he could be. “Can I kiss you again?” he said, barely a question. She nodded, and he was on her. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently. A moan sounded from the back of her throat. His tongue swept against hers, and his thumb rhymed the same motion on her jaw. He stretched his other hand over her ribs, remembering the feel of her body. Her hands were inside his jacket, feeling his chest. He broke off from her mouth to kiss her neck. 

“Sirius,” she breathed. “Maybe we should…”

Remembering that they were in a public park, he dropped his head, resting his forehead on her collarbone. “Sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing. 

“No, don’t be,” she said, squeezing back. “I know what you said the other night. But I want you to know that I really, really, like this.”

He laughed, pressing a long kiss to her jaw. “Me too,” he said, finally pulling away. 

He looked at her, taking pride in the flush that went from her face down her neck, disappearing below her white top. He thought back to their conversation over lunch. “So,” he started, thinking on just how to phrase it. “All that stuff you kept saying about this or that being a ‘ _date_ ’—that was about you and me.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She looked away, shaking her head. “So stupid,” she laughed to herself. 

As good as it was not to be the subject of embarrassment for the moment, he didn’t wish the same feeling on her. “No,” he squeezed her arm. “I mean if that was a date on Sunday night it was kind of a shite one, wasn’t it?”

They laughed, until she said, “I had fun,” with a shrug.

“You’re very fun.” He looked out at the Thames, still feeling like she’d cast a Feather-light Charm on a load he was carrying. “Let me take you on a real date this weekend, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big nod to the wonderful ShayaLonnie's The Debt of Time - one of the greats I aspire to learn from! Among many other details, I adored Remus and Mia's 'muggle or wizard' game in that story.


	5. Rain Check

Their picnic two days later lasted all of twenty minutes before the skies opened up into a torrential downpour. They’d arrived outside Hermione’s flat moments later with a waterlogged basket of food and drinks, completely soaked themselves. 

“I can dry us off first,” Sirius offered, once they were outside her door.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, unlocking the door and pushing inside. “In first! I’ll dry the floor later.”

They stood, dripping wet in her entryway. Hermione withdrew her wand from her pocket, but Sirius put up his hand. “Wait,” he said, stepping back. “Can I just…” his eyes roved over her body. “You look bloody gorgeous like this.”

“Alright, just for that you’re going to be the one that cleans the floors,” she teased.

“Gladly,” he said, stepping into her. 

She looked into his eyes, dark in the stormy light from her windows.

“And what will you have me do for a kiss?” he murmured, a hand going up to rest on her waist. He was always so warm. 

She sighed, failing to think of anything clever. “Nothing.” She started to lean in, and he quickly closed the distance between them. 

_Finally,_ she thought, melting into him. She’d gotten almost nothing done in the last forty five hours since they’d kissed by the Thames. The pile of books to research on her desk remained un-researched as her body remembered the feel of his hands. With nothing to even pretend to do on Friday evening, she’d used the Galleon to spill some of her excitement to Ginny, ever her cheerleader when it came to the mysterious wizard. And even meeting up with the man himself this morning, she’d twice found herself staring hungrily at his mouth, hardly listening to what he was saying. 

“You’re really good at this,” she whispered, pressing kisses into his neck.

“You’re sweet,” he sighed. He ran his hands over her wet clothes, and she felt her skin tighten under his touch. 

“You shaved,” she observed.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She traced her fingers over his jaw. “Feels nice…”

“…but you like the scruff better?” he smirked.

“I’m not saying that!” she giggled. “Maybe I’m just not used to it like this.”

He captured her lips in another smoldering kiss. 

Hermione had tried to recall if it had been like this with other men. She and Viktor had often talked late into the night, though it had mostly been about homework, or later, magical theory. With Ron there had been such a powerful camaraderie; whether they were arguing or laughing there was that pull, while they’d still had something. Cormac and Eddie were both a little more short lived, though she supposed she must’ve been excited about them—at least in the beginning. But she could never remember being so drawn to someone physically. 

“Want to go to the couch?” she said breathlessly, struggling to pull his jacket off. 

“You’re wet,” he whispered into her hair, and even though she knew he was talking about her clothes, she felt her skin break into gooseflesh. 

“I don’t care,” she said, feeling wicked. 

He shrugged off the jacket, tossing it to the floor where it landed on top of hers. 

“Come on, then,” she said, tugging him by the hand.

It wasn’t to say that she didn’t respect Sirius in other ways. He was a very intelligent and driven kind of person. He could certainly match her in verbal sparring—though it was so much fierier than with Eddie or even Ron. But what she longed for most was his touch, his lips, his _body_. Even the lead-hot words he’d dripped into her ears that night had seemed to flow straight past her brain and into her blood. She wanted him the way a parched throat wants for water.

She pulled him down to the couch, pressing her wet mouth to his. As he moved his lips against hers, she felt her body turning toward him, lifting her leg slightly onto his.

But before she could stop herself climbing into his lap, he did. “Fuck,” he said, pressing a firm hand to her thigh to keep her in place. “Hermione…”

“What?” she giggled, trying to downplay her lewd attempt to rush things along. 

He smoothed his hand up the wet fabric of her jeans, resting it on her leg. 

“I only wanted to keep kissing you,” she said, punctuating the sentence with a soft kiss that he returned.

He squeezed her thigh a bit too hard as he pulled away. “Alright,” he said, giving her a little swat just below her hip. She felt the air leave her even as he said, “up you go,” and started to shift her body off of him.

She fell back into the couch with a sigh. “Spoilsport.” 

“Yes, exactly,” he nodded. “We need to get you dry. Warm and fuzzy. And if you have any big fluffy sweaters you could change into…” he paused, staring at nothing momentarily. “Or a burlap sack, that might work,” he smirked. He stood and began to cast drying charms on both of them. 

“Not my hair, you’ll make it frizz like mad,” she said, putting her hands protectively over her head. “I’ll go put the kettle on while I work on it.” 

When they had dried the rest of the way off, mugs in hand, Sirius asked if she would give him a tour of her flat. A thrilling alternative to snogging on the couch, to be sure.

“Well, it’s no Grimmauld Place,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. “There’s this—kitchen-dinette. The living room you’ve seen. The loo’s just there,” she pointed, “and then my room on the other side.”

“Ah, and you don’t show your bedroom to blokes, when you give them the tour?” he teased.

“Oh yes, ‘them’. Yes, none of the _many_ guys who get the tour see it then. So you’ll have to wait too, won’t you?” she winked. 

“I can do that,” he said, her stomach flipping at his quick response. 

“And you remember Crookshanks, don’t you?” The half-kneazle had sauntered out from her bedroom to greet her. Upon seeing Sirius, he jumped up into his lap.

“How could I forget this clever little beast?” he said, scratching him behind the ears. _You’ve approved of him all this time, haven’t you Crooks?_ she thought. 

“I’d like to get a bigger place eventually. A little study with good light is pretty much all I want. All my books are shoved in trunks, or at my parents.” She saw him glance at the two bookshelves in the room and corrected, “Well, not those. But anyway, this is my first place all my own, so, you know, time to grow and all that.” She felt inexperienced saying all this to a man whose home boasted two libraries. 

“Plenty of time for that,” he said, setting his cup down.

“Hey, tell me more about the new office,” she said, pulling her feet on the couch and turning her back to the arm to face him. “You said it’s all done now?”

“Pretty much, just needs a few decorative touches here and there. We’ll be working from there starting Monday.”

“Good for you,” she said, wiggling her toes in between the cushions for warmth. 

“Cold?” he asked, rubbing his hands over the tops of her feet. “Thanks for the tea, by the way.”

“Thanks for coming over.”

“I mean, we really had no choice, it’s not like I was hoping we’d end up at your flat,” he winked. 

She laughed softly. “You probably had no intention of cozying up with me on a couch today.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning closer, “having to huddle together for warmth because the hostess still hasn’t lit the bloody fire—do I have to do everything for you, Hermione?” 

“Alright!” she huffed, chastened. She flicked her wand to set the fire crackling. 

“I was only joking,” he said. The phrase was all too familiar to her, but his low murmured delivery helped take the edge off.

“Isn’t the man supposed to build the fire anyway?” she quipped.

“While the woman makes tea? How antiquated of you, Hermione—you could really learn a thing or two about gender roles in the twenty-first century.” This made her laugh, and Crookshanks jumped off the couch with a rather judgemental look back at the two of them. 

“Do you know another one of my terrible unfeminist habits?” she said, leaning closer, “It’s… waiting around for the man to kiss me.” 

“I have noticed that,” he murmured, taking her chin in his hand. “Deplorable.” He pressed his lips to hers, eliciting a small sigh. She pulled away long enough to set her cup on the table and turned to kiss him again. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling slightly before he released it to brush his nose against her cheek. The gesture set alight a throng of fireflies in her chest. He was capable of so much more tenderness than she’d ever have guessed. 

She placed her palm on his neck, opening her mouth to his. As his tongue swept into her, she felt his hand on her waist. Another caress of his tongue against hers lit the old flame inside her again, and she climbed onto his lap. She didn’t make the mistake of pausing this time, instead pulling him close as she slid into place astride him. A moan spilled out of her mouth at the contact, seeming to travel up from between her spread thighs as he kissed her. 

“Mmf,” he groaned back, his hands drifting lower to her hips. She felt her body warm to his touch, thinking of what it would be to take him inside her like this. 

“This is fun,” she mumbled half into his mouth, letting her body rock against his. 

“Fuck,” he said softly, pressing against her. She felt him—actually felt the length of him hardening deliciously through their clothes as he licked into her mouth.

She broke off to kiss his neck. “I’ve been thinking of you,” she whispered against his ear. “Lots.” She rolled her hips into him, and he sighed. 

“I wonder what that’s like?” he mumbled into her hair with a soft rumble of laughter. And without warning, he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back. 

His body was solid on top of her, and she parted her legs under him. He slid easily between her thighs, and she could feel how hot and hard she was through their jeans. “Fuck,” she breathed, “yes.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, snaking an arm up into the back of her curls. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, and when she felt his hand tighten on a handful of her hair, “yes, god!” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling that falling sensation again. 

“You’re so good,” he purred, and the words seemed to send her fully outside of herself. The two people on the couch seemed to be some distance away. Hermione knew he was on her, that the couch was under her, that her skin was ruddied and damp, but it didn’t feel like any of it was happening to her. Small, incoherent sounds tumbled from her lips intermittently. Her hand was on his shoulder. Two fingers tapped on his skin, slowly at first, then Hermione began to tap more urgently.

“Hey, okay,” Sirius was panting. “You’re okay. Sorry love, I’m sorry.” He picked up her hand off his shoulder and brought it to his lips. “You’re okay,” he whispered. 

She blinked up at him. 

“Alright?” he asked, a guilty expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine, I think.”

“It’s not you that needs to apologize, pet,” he said, pressing a kiss to the other side of her hand. She shivered. 

“No, it’s okay. I was… really enjoying all that. It was just that, um, that thing that sort of happened before.” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. He had gone up onto his knees, and she missed the weight of his body already. She placed her hands on his thighs, stroking slowly. “But it’s really fun, like that,” she said playfully. 

He looked down at her, eyes flicking between hers. “Like what?” he asked. 

“Like,” she swallowed, feeling herself flush. “You know…”

He was half grinning at her, all the while keeping his steely eyes fixed on hers. “No, I don’t know if I do. Can you tell me?”

A whimper sounded from her chest. He dropped onto all fours, his body hovering frustratingly above her. Finding no words, she tried to pull him back down onto her. 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Tell me what it is you like first.”

 _Your weight on me—when you grab my hair—when you made me look at you…_ but she couldn’t make herself tell him. She pouted, trying to wrap her legs around his hips. He laughed again, pressing her firmly back into the couch with his hand. “That,” she moaned into the movement. “When you—pin me down like that,” she managed. 

“Good,” he whispered, the word sliding through her chest like an arrow. He rewarded her with a soft kiss. “Okay? Staying with me, love?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. 

“Could you tell me, if you weren’t?” 

“Mmm,” she thought. “Dunno.” 

He laughed—such a musical sound—and sat up again. He offered his hands. “Let’s sit up for a bit, yeah?” 

She pouted, taking his hands to pull herself up all the same. He took her feet in his lap and rubbed them again, warming her. 

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?” he cocked his head at her. 

“What do you like?”

“Oh,” he sighed, his hand disappearing under the hem of her jeans, “the usual,” he grinned at her, squeezing her leg. 

“Fascinating,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

He laughed. “Only missionary. And very long skirts. Really high collars—invisibility cloaks, actually,” he said, withdrawing his hand from her pant leg and patting her knee instead. 

“Missionary’s not the worst thing,” she said. She wondered how many times she could make him laugh today. This was an excellent start, even if they weren’t getting anywhere on other fronts. “Or witch on top, that one seems to be popular with men.”

“Hermione,” he warned.

“What?” she dared, sitting up further to level with him.

He sighed, reaching for his tea.

“Afraid I’ll kiss you again?” she teased.

“Terrified,” he said, setting the cup back in its saucer. He took her jaw in his palm and they kissed again, moving more slowly this time. He was truly fantastic with his tongue, and his continued willingness to demonstrate earned him extra marks. 

She tried gripping his shirt, a little test. When she heard a faint groan she moved her hands lower, lifting the hem. He pushed his tongue into her more urgently, pulling away just as she realized he was taking his shirt off. 

“Mmm,” she breathed, moving her lips to his exposed collarbone. Her hands roamed greedily over the muscles in his chest. He pushed the curls back from her face, keeping the movement gentle. Someday she would ask him about each tattoo. When he got them, and if there was a story. 

She resurfaced to kiss his mouth again, pressing her body closer to his. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she started to pull her shirt up.

“Hmm-mm,” he breathed, then, pulling away. “No. Keep it on, please.”

“Sirius,” she tried not to whine. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “If you start taking things off, I don’t know…” he shook his head. 

This was power. A smirk threatened at the corner of her lips. “Okay,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “So, kissing only, clothes on. Any other rules?”

“No. Good girl,” he smiled.

“Arsehole,” she said, climbing into his lap again. 

“Mmm, that’s not something good girls say,” he scolded as his hands went to her hips. 

She sat on his crotch, straddling him. “And good _boys_ ,” she emphasized, rocking her hips against him, “do not try to tease—when they know it will only end in frustration.”

“Mmm,” he groaned, returning the motion. “Forgive me?” He captured her lip between his teeth. 

“I’ll consider it,” she mumbled, dragging herself up the length of him. 

“Fuck.”

“Flip me over again,” she said.

“Promise you’re not going to try to undress either of us?”

She nodded, and he immediately obliged her. “Ooh!” she squealed as her head hit the cushions. They shared a laugh and he buried his face in her curls, kissing along her shoulder over the strap of her tank top. 

With the combined efforts of her hands and hips, she pulled his body down onto hers, between her legs. He groaned as he settled into her, his kisses traveling up her neck. She felt his tongue trace a path toward her ear and she shuddered. 

“It’s fun seeing what you respond to,” he whispered, lips close to her ear. 

She chuckled, tracing long lines down his back with her fingers. She remembered touching him in their cell, and the way he touched her in return. More impish thoughts took hold and she wrapped her legs around his hips. 

“Mmmm,” he breathed, pressing her body into the couch with his. 

“You’re right, it is fun,” she murmured. She ran her fingers through his hair, sighing as he rolled his hips against her. She arched her back, pressing into him as she caught his lips in another slow kiss. 

With the distraction of their lips, she felt emboldened to press her center more deliberately against him. He groaned, shifting slightly, and she felt his hot length pressing through their clothes, directly over the wetness between her legs. She felt herself growing hot. 

“Fuck,” she shuddered, “I missed you.”

He chuckled, half a grunt, pushing against her again. “I still love hearing that foul little mouth of yours.”

“Bastard,” she grinned, rubbing herself slowly down his zipper. As she did, the seam of her jeans rolled _just_ between the folds of her sex. She stifled a moan. 

“Mmm. I missed you too,” he whispered, canting his hips into her. She bit back a groan as the fabric brushed over her clit. 

She realized somewhere along the line they had dropped the pretense of snogging and were now thrusting against one another rather shamelessly. _Is it too juvenile?_ She couldn’t remember dry-humping like this since she and Ron were at Hogwarts. But the heat continued to pool between them. She felt her knickers slide against her under the seam of her jeans.

“God,” he rumbled, grinding against her. “Going to keep these on for me, yeah?” he asked, tugging on her belt.

“Mm-hmm,” she half-moaned, though she ached to feel him inside. He rewarded her with another hard thrust. Her hands were on his hips, pulling him into her. 

He rolled himself against her in the beginning of a rhythm, and even more than the feel of him, so hot and close right where she needed it; just the image of it—this simulation of sex—had her blood singing. A few thrusts more and she began to feel that tightness winding inside her like a spring. 

“Okay?” he stopped kissing her neck to ask, and she realized they hadn’t spoken in minutes, maybe. Her breaths became shallow as they ground against each other.

“Uh-huh,” she gasped, absently threading her fingers into his hair. 

“Yeah?” he asked again. 

Somewhere, a voice wondered if it would be too lewd. Too wanton to come undone under him as they kissed in her living room with their clothes on. “I think I might be…” she warned. 

He watched her, maintaining his rhythm as she felt the spring inside slowly contracting. _That fucking stare of his_ , she thought. It was so _much_. He raised an eyebrow, questioning. 

“If you don’t stop…”

He exhaled, a hot breath of air on her jaw. “Fuck,” he breathed, thrusting harder. Had her meaning been clear? But she was steadily losing the ability to think about that as she felt her body grind into his, reaching for something. 

“Sirius,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. _Look at me when you come,_ he’d said before. 

“Come on,” he whispered, tangling his fist into the back of her hair. His other hand slid down her back to cup her arse, his fingers digging in. This was the Sirius Black she’d imagined—taking, grabbing; not nervous or unsure. Someone who could take the reins, someone to lose herself in.

“God,” she whispered.

“Close?” She felt his teeth graze her earlobe. He hadn’t stopped his grinding rhythm against her. _And all this with clothes on,_ she mused to herself. She imagined him yanking her drawers down, tearing at her knickers. 

“Mmmhhh…”

“Come on,” he said again, and she remembered the feel of his fingers sliding into her. 

“Fuck,” she whined as he pressed the seam of her jeans into her core. She was tightening, climbing.

He gripped her hair, growling into her ear, “that’s it.” 

Finally, she cried out. She shook with release, her sex pulsing hot between them as she came. “Don’t stop,” she choked. 

“Don’t have to say that.” He bucked hard against her, dragging another cry from her throat. He tightened his arms around her and she felt their bodies couldn’t possibly be any closer without taking their clothes off. He continued to roll against her until her breathing slowed. 

He pulled back, giving her space to breathe as he surveyed her face. A smile played on his lips. She suddenly felt timid, meeting his eyes after all of _that_. “I…” she started, pressing her hands over her face. She felt her cheeks growing warm under her palms.

“That was fucking gorgeous,” he crooned, taking her breath away. 

She felt a kiss on the back of her hands and she pulled them away from her face, meeting his eyes again. “Thanks?” she smiled, still not sure.

“What?” he laughed, “it was.” _So fucking nonchalant._

“I didn’t mean to, um… I mean, like, I hadn’t set out to—to, well, you know.”

“Me neither,” he said, wearing a lopsided grin now.

“Oh—did you?” Her eyes flicked to the crotch of his jeans.

“No,” he laughed, “But I bloody could’ve. I only meant, I wasn’t trying to make _you…_ Well—I was,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, “but I hadn’t planned on it half an hour ago.”

She smiled at him, still blushing loudly under his quiet gaze. “Do you want to?” she asked shyly. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want to come?” she clarified.

She watched an expression slide down his face as if in slow motion. First his eyebrows drew together slightly in an almost pained look. His eyes unfocused next, and his lips parted slightly. He drew a slow breath and she watched his chest expand with the air of her words. All at once she understood what people meant when they’d told her they could ‘see the wheels turning’ in her mind.

“I…” he finally said, pulling his focus back to her face. He looked away again, then began to sit back up, reaching for his shirt. She took in a sharp breath. _What have I done wrong?_ she wondered. She shifted to sit up, feeling her slick knickers slide against her under her jeans. Perhaps it had been too much; she was too lascivious. 

“Sirius?” she asked in a small voice. 

He turned suddenly to face her. His hands were in her hair, mouth hot against hers. “Fuck, Hermione,” he mumbled, and a warmth spread from where he’d pressed her name into her own lips. 

She pulled away after a time with some effort. “I’m sorry if that was a… um, poor suggestion?” she tried. 

He laughed at that, his voice sounding hoarse, and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Shh,” he said. 

She furrowed her brow at him. “You know, you can be a bit hard to read at times?” she tried to keep the snarkiness from her tone.

He pulled his shirt over his head, and she felt the air change between them.

“Sorry,” he said with a tight smile. She kept her gaze steady on him, feeling emboldened by her annoyance. “It’s just…” He took a breath, then continued. “I’m not just… going to, you know,” he made a gesture, “get off with you—and then, what, sit down to dinner tomorrow at the Burrow like nothing’s happened between us?”

She gave him a look. “You mean you’re not going to put yourself through—exactly what you’ve put me through?”

His head dropped, and she heard him mutter, “right.”

“Which was lovely, by the way,” she said sharply, “—what you just put me through.” 

“Thanks,” he offered with a soft chuckle. He could look so like a boy sometimes, she could almost forget she’d never known him as one. 

“You could just…” she reached for his thigh, “not go to the Burrow tomorrow,” she said playfully. 

He gave her hand a squeeze, then let his palm linger over hers. “That _was_ —really fucking sexy, you know?” he said in a low voice, all man again. 

“Thanks,” she breathed, starting to believe it. “So you won’t let me… you know, scratch your back?” she insinuated.

“Oh, is that what this is?” he laughed, turning to her with a playful smirk. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine?”

“Hmm,” she stalled, having no idea what to say. She had had plenty of time to consider ‘ _what this was_ ’ in recent days but failed to come up with any convincing answers. Finally, she continued, “If it is, I owe you approximately two scratches at this point…” she pulled her lower lip between her teeth in a way she knew often worked, “but you won’t even settle for one?”

He groaned, shooting her a pained look. She filed ‘lip-biting’ away into a bright red folder in her brain marked ‘For Sirius’. She wanted to scratch his proverbial back—as much to pay him back for the gratifying orgasms as for the desire to see him, weakened and vulnerable, as he’d seen her. “Please?” she tried, injecting her voice with what she hoped was the right amount o f breathiness. 

He narrowed his eyes, giving her a warning look. 

“If you just let me touch you…” she began, sliding her hand up his thigh. 

“Hermione,” he caught her wrist roughly. 

“What?” she flashed, baiting him. She moved her other hand to his leg and he grabbed that wrist, too, as she’d hoped. She grinned at him. In her post-climax clarity, the roughness tickled a different part of her brain, and she found herself readying for a mental battle. 

“Don’t,” he cautioned, at least half-playful, still. 

“Don’t what?” she teased, climbing over his lap to straddle him. 

“You know what,” he said, pulling her hands behind her back. He maneuvered her wrists together and pinned them against her tailbone with one hand. 

“What?” she teased, eyes brightening with an idea. “Why can’t you just _tell me_ , Sirius?”

He grunted at her using his own words against him. He took her jaw roughly in his free hand, and her breath quickened. She felt the power shift between them.

“Please tell me?” she breathed, shivering at how he so quickly made her helpless in his grip. He could make her beg. She imagined going onto her knees in front of him. She felt him, hard against her now.

“You think I don’t want that?” His voice was a low rumble between them. He brought his thumb against her lips, and she was brought back to their cell again. A look passed between them and his eyes darkened. “Yeah?” he growled. Her lips parted under his touch, and he pressed his thumb into her mouth. 

“Mmm,” she sighed, feeling her eyes close. She was light, floating, almost. His thumb dragged slowly over her bottom teeth, pushing in until he touched her tongue. She traced it along the underside of his thumb, opening her eyes to watch him. She could almost visualize the center of control between them, glowing and red, as it inched back toward her now. She closed her lips around his thumb, watching as he briefly rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. 

Not to be outdone, he pulled back and then pushed slowly into her mouth again. She sucked lightly, still watching him. “That’s a good girl,” he said, and she relinquished everything to him. She whined, continuing in the barely-disguised imitation of exactly what she wanted to do to him. 

“Could’ve come earlier just from the scent of you,” he pressed on, and the image of it flashed into her mind. “Look up, love,” he whispered, and she would do anything for him. “Gonna come from you doing this,” he said, pushing his thumb into her mouth again. She sucked, obedient, feeling wetness pool in her knickers. 

Then his hands were on her waist, and he tossed her lightly back into the couch. He stood, adjusting himself. She blinked, trying to regain her bearings. “But not right now,” he said, with a devastating wink.

“Sirius!” she positively whined.

“Sorry, love,” he said, planting another excruciating kiss on her forehead. “I said I wouldn’t, and I meant it. I’ll owl you soon, yeah?” 

And the door was closing behind him.

Hermione looked around, half-dazed. Tea gone cold, two jackets crumpled by the door… _He left it_ , she realized.

His owl came the following morning. Her breath quickened as her obscenely pruned fingers worked to unfurl the parchment. 

_Fantastic time yesterday, thank you for that, little dove. It’s still a bit ‘surreal’, as you put it, being alone together and not in a cell, so I probably seem rude or daft at times. Sorry to end things in a hurry again. Hope you managed to sort yourself out after I left—I certainly did. When do I see you again?_

_S_

  
Her eyes traveled over the page, narrowing as she re-read ‘ _sort yourself out—I certainly did_ ’, then widening as she realized his meaning. A giggle sounded from her lips, then a sigh. Ginny would absolutely die.


	6. Dragon Pox

“Mer- _lin_ ,” Ginny oozed, “he sounds like a bloody dream.” 

Hermione silently agreed. She felt heady, even only having shared the broad strokes of what transpired with the ‘Ministry wizard’ yesterday. “It was almost better than… well you know.” She widened her eyes conspiratorially.

“Sex, Granger? You know you can just say it.”

Hermione blushed into the bowl of batter she was mixing. “Honestly it was, better than any _sex_ ,” she said quietly, “I’ve had. Even with, you know—established, long term boyfriends.” 

“Ugh,” she gushed, “even Krum?”

She nodded, summoning a baking sheet. “I was thinking of making another set of Galleons for him and me. A bit more discreet than owls… but does that seem, I don’t know, too forward?”

“Not at all,” she answered immediately. “Just picture him, sitting at his desk… then he feels something _hot_ in his _pocket_ …” she began dreamily. “Mmm, I should make a set for Harry and I.”

Hermione laughed. “You two are adorable. It’s disgusting.”

“ _=You_ two are adorable. I’m so happy for you! When do we get to meet him?” she asked, scooping out a clump of dough on her finger. 

Hermione’s stomach flipped. “Careful with that, you’ll get salmonella.”

“What’s that?”

“From the eggs. It can make you sick,” she tutted.

“I don’t think witches can catch that,” she shrugged, licking her finger. “So?”  
“So?” 

“Your boyfriend! When are you going to bring him around?”

She snorted. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Lover, then. Fuck buddy! Paramour—I want. To meet. Him.”

Hermione leveled a look at her. Panic rose in her chest, and she thought quickly while trying to keep her features stern. “I told you already, it’s not something that can just be—public.”

“Fine,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “But will you at least tell me who he is?”

“Oh, because you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut?” she sent her a look, heart beating quickly.

“Hermione,” she pouted, walking over to squeeze her friend by the shoulders, “I told you I was sorry, I really didn’t know you meant—”

“—Don’t worry about it. But yeah, I’m not going to give out any details just yet. You’re already the only person that knows at all, just—hold on to that,” she said, patting the hand on her shoulder. 

“And Sirius,” Ginny quipped. 

Hermione tensed momentarily, then remembered that, according to Ginny, Sirius did know she’d been seeing someone. 

“What if you’re still seeing him in a month?” She asked, twirling her wand at the bowl to help. “Will you tell me who he is then?”

“No.” The look on her face told her she might’ve been a little too forceful. “No promises. But maybe if it turns into something serious,” she finished lightly. She didn’t get a response, and she considered her own words. “So. You, love. Let’s talk about Ginny,” she said, levitating the biscuits into the oven. 

“Oh! Well, sex is really good this trimester,” she began, sending the dishes to the sink. “Bless these hormones, it’s actually been really easy to orgasm lately.”

Hermione hummed, raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t necessarily mean your sex life, but—that’s nice. Good to hear you’re still, you know, with…” she gestured at her belly. 

“It’s honestly the only thing I look forward to every day. I’m so bloody bored without Quidditch,” she sighed. 

“Read any good books?” she tried.

Ginny grinned. “Been on a spree of bodice-rippers lately. But they all kind of blend together after a while. They all have the same plot, really.” 

“Hmm. Do they?” she pretended not to know. 

The sound of the floo activating caught their attention, and Ginny called, “hullo, love!”

Hermione thought. “What about books on Quidditch? I could stop at Flourish and Blotts after work tomorrow and see what they recommend?”

She chuckled. “You’re too sweet. _I_ should go myself, that’s what. That could easily kill an hour, maybe two? Then there’s just three million more hours until this little one comes,” she patted her belly proudly.

“Have you thought about getting a job?” Hermione asked. “Something clerical maybe?”

“Yeah, but who wants to hire someone who’s clearly going to be on maternity leave in a few months? And I couldn’t just lie and say I’m not going to get back on a broomstick as soon as the Healer allows it.”

“Hey Hermione, Gin,” Harry said, walking into the kitchen and planting a kiss on Ginny’s temple. “What about working for Sirius?” he suggested, and Hermione blinked.

“Eavesdropping?” Ginny chided.

“Sorry,” he smiled, pulling Hermione into a rough hug. “But I bet B.A.M.B.Y. could really use someone right now. Isn’t that gala thing coming up pretty soon?”

 _Oh please no._ Hermione swallowed, walking over to check the biscuits in the oven. They were, of course, still completely raw. “Or what about the Ministry?” she chirped. “I could see if there are any openings in my department.”

“That actually sounds like a good idea,” Ginny said, and Hermione was momentarily relieved until she continued, “The gala’s in two weeks, maybe I could just try it out, volunteer until then?”

Hermione frowned. “But at the Ministry you’d be in literally the same building as Harry,” she pointed out. “And Ron, and Percy, and your dad!”

She wrinkled her nose. “I think a little separation is a good thing,” she smiled at her husband. “Besides, I never really saw myself as a Ministry witch. No offense.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Sirius was good with tricky situations, wasn’t he? And he wasn’t at the office very often anyway—he’d put her to work under someone else. They’d barely see each other, maybe. If Hermione could just talk to him first, she could make some suggestions for how to keep Ginny in her lane.

“I could ask him for you?” Hermione offered. 

“You?” Harry asked, and she immediately regretted saying anything. 

“Are you seeing him soon?” Ginny asked. 

_Idiot._ “Um, no, just at the Burrow. Tonight—of course.”

“Oh, Gin didn’t tell you?” said Harry, taking a soda out of the fridge. “Sirius and I are visiting Andromeda and Teddy tonight. So we won’t be there. But I’ll ask him about it then.”

 _Nice of him to let me know,_ she thought, frowning. At least she wouldn’t have to avoid his eyes throughout dinner. 

\------------------

Ginny’s decision to volunteer with B.A.M.B.Y. couldn’t have come at a better time. There was plenty to do before the big fundraiser, and Sirius was glad for the distraction of getting her up to speed while he waited for his next chance to see Hermione. When Wednesday finally came, he had to consciously remind himself not to grin like an idiot in front of the staff. She’d decided on dinner separately, then ice cream at a place in Muggle London. 

There was a knock at his door. “It’s open!” he called, brandishing a quill and parchment to look busy. 

“Mr. Black,” said Ginny with mock formality. 

“That’s going to get old pretty fast,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Sorry, Mr. President,” she grinned, striding in to take the seat in front of his desk. “Alright, so I have today’s report for the gala checklist,” she began. 

“Did Flinchy get the musicians?” he asked.

“Sorry, are we calling him ‘Flinchy’ or ‘Finchly’? ‘Cause, you know… ‘flinchy’,” she jerked like she was ducking a bludger.

“Yeah, good point. Well, anything but Finch-Fletchy,” he waved.

“It’s, um, Finch-Fletch _ley_ ,” she wrinkled her nose apologetically.

“See? Exactly. Only a nutter would call someone that trainwreck of syllables.”

She snorted. “Don’t let Hermione hear you say that.”

He drew in a quick breath at her name. “Why Hermione?”

“Well you know, she’ll probably hyphenate when she’s married, too. Down with the patriarchy, and all that.”

“Ah, right.” He relaxed. “You’re old-school, though, yeah Potter?”

“Yeah, we just went with the famous name,” she grinned. “Plenty of other Weasleys anyway. Granger-Krum, on the other hand, that would’ve had a nice ring…” 

He chuckled, resisting the urge to ask too many questions. “Or she could’ve taken up Weasley where you left it.” he commented. 

“Granger-Weasley, now that rolls right off the tongue,” she said dryly.

 _Or…_ he thought. _Don’t,_ he warned. _Don’t even fucking think it,_ he told his absurd fucking brain. _What, Granger-Black?_ He coughed. “Well. Flecthy’s a sweet kid. Call him Bob if you want, I don’t think he minds.”

She giggled. “You’re one of those cool bosses, are you?” 

“I can tell it’s going to be really productive with you working here,” he sighed. 

“Sorry. So, the checklist,” she looked down at her parchment.

“You can just let me know anything that needs attention,” he waved. 

“Right,” she nodded. “You’re sure you don’t want the good news first?”

“Does that mean there’s bad news?” He looked at her pointedly, twirling the quill between his fingers. He really didn’t need some fuck up during their first big fundraiser.

“Well,” she cleared her throat. “RSVPs are coming in, looking good, mostly yes's there… Justin just told me musicians are all confirmed—”

“—Give me the bother, Weasley,” he hurried.

“McGonagall’s out.”

He dropped the quill. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, no, sorry.” She tugged at her collar, grimacing for effect. “Her brother’s come down with Dragon Pox, and she says she’s going to be taking care of him whenever she’s not at Hogwarts this month.” 

“Fuck,” he stood abruptly, pacing over to the window. “Well it’s not much of a party without a speaker, is it?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said. 

“Shit,” he cursed again. “Well, we can work on her.” He turned back to Ginny. “Were you a favorite of hers?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” she frowned. “Barely got my O.W.L. in Transfig. Maybe Bob though?” 

“Bob?”

“Finch-Fletchley.”

He rubbed his hand down his face. “Why don’t you just come along. You can help me butter her up, yeah? Just talk about the baby, witches love babies.”

But they were getting nowhere fast on their floo call with McGonagall.

“Come on, Headmistress,” Sirius said, plumping his lower lip into a pout. “Think of all the Muggle-born children you’d be helping with this endorsement. There’s really no one better,” he flashed a smile.

She curled an eyebrow at him, still sitting ramrod-straight behind her desk. “Black, I’ve been assisting Muggle-born students in their transition to Hogwarts since before you were born. Of course you have my endorsement. But you’ll have to make do without me next weekend.”

“But it’s only for a half hour,” Ginny tried, “maybe less! We could—have someone at St. Mungo’s send word right away if he gets any worse…”

“Enough, Ginevra. The Pox can be very serious; you’re here one moment, gone the next. You—and you too, Sirius—of all people, you should understand the position I’m in. He’s my brother.”

He heard a little choking sound through the flames to his right. He reached over to squeeze Ginny’s shoulder. 

“Of course,” he said. “Well, maybe at the next one, then, after he’s made a speedy recovery. Thanks for taking our call.”

When he pulled his head out of the fireplace, Ginny was already dusting soot off of her robe. “Alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said crisply. 

Noticing that her eyes were glistening, he quickly turned away, digging in his desk for nothing. “Shall I have Finchy bring some tea?” he suggested.

She snorted, wiping her face. “I think the volunteer makes the tea, Sirius.”

“I’ll make the bloody tea,” he laughed, heading out to the lobby.

A few minutes later, they each had a hot mug in hand. He tried an attempt at small talk that didn’t seem to interest her. Then she blurted, “It’s all well and good, your brother dying when he’s ninety-whatever. _Maybe_ dying, even.”

 _You poor kid,_ he thought. Her words hung in the air. “I’m sure she just meant…” he began, then dropped it. “Yeah. Wanker,” he said with a soft chuckle. 

She snorted. “McGonagall? Or her brother?”

“Both of them. Long-lived knobs,” he smiled, earning a real laugh from her. 

They sipped quietly for awhile, then she said, “You know, I think I remember dad saying she had another brother that died during the first war.”

“Yeah, that is right,” he nodded. 

Ginny hummed into her tea. He thought again—for the hundredth time—of everything he’d missed.

“To brothers?” He raised his cup.

“To brothers,” she said, staring ahead.

Sirius spent the rest of the day feeling trapped between the shadow of their conversation and the stress of the gala. By the time it was half four, he was itching for a distraction, and decided to drop in on Harry at the Ministry. But as he boarded the lift, he found himself riding up past the second and third floors. At level four, he got off and found his way to her office. 

She wasn’t inside, but her bag and jacket were still hanging by the door. He smirked, strolling over to take her chair. He flicked his wand at the door, then looked around her office while he waited for her to return. A moment later, the door creaked open and Hermione stepped in.

“Jesus Mary—!” she shrieked. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, yanking the door shut behind her. 

“Just thought I’d stop by,” he smiled, putting his feet on her desk. 

“What? _Stop by?_ ” she said in a stage whisper. “Literally anyone could’ve seen you!”

“Relax! There’s lots of good reasons for me to be here. Maybe I had a magical creature problem—”

“—then you would owl the front desk, like a normal person.”

“Or I was dropping something from Ginny. Your friend, my employee…”

“Well, she’d—probably post it by owl, too! Or apparate!”

“Hermione, I didn’t see anyone we know.”

“What if I came in here with Harry or Ron? We often have lunch together, you know.”

“Then I’d probably say, ‘Afternoon Harry! How are ya?’ They’re not going to assume, you know…”

“But what if they did?” the pitch of her voice was lowering now, but her eyes were still wide.

“Love, you need to get out of your own head a little, yeah?” he assured her. “Nobody cares what other people are up to.”

“Well,” she huffed, “I just think it’s good to be cautious. You could’ve _told_ me you were coming—the whole office probably heard me scream.” 

“Well, I only just decided to come by. Besides,” he winked, “I silenced it.”

“You silenced it,” she said, looking at him blankly. “My office? Why?”

“On the off-chance that you’d scream,” he shrugged. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well. Nice to hear you’ve got it all figured out, Black. Could you please take your feet off my desk?” she said, leaning into each consonant. 

“Apologies,” he murmured in a low voice. He cast a cleansing charm to take care of the nonexistent dirt and stood up. “Do you want your chair back?”

“I was just about to leave,” she quipped, reaching for her jacket.

“Grand,” he said merrily. “I’ll come with.”

“Why are you even here?” she sighed. “It’s still hours until eight thirty.”

“Sorry,” he clipped. “Thought it might be nice to surprise you, but clearly you don’t like surprises.”

That seemed to touch a nerve. “How is that fair? Given the circumstances…”

“I just think you’re worrying about nothing,” he said, clenching his fists.

“Well, better than being _careless_!” she spat the word like a curse.

“Because god forbid the receptionist—” he gestured toward the door, “—puts together that you were actually fucking someone?”

“Oh, are we, now? Because last I recall you _actually wouldn’t_ ,” she sneered, and his stomach dropped as he realized his mistake. 

“You know what I meant,” he said, feeling his face warm. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, anyway? Like it’s so unexpected I’d be meeting up with a man after work?”

“Well, do you? Often?” 

She scoffed. 

This was going brilliantly. “Look, I didn’t mean... “ he sent her an apologetic look. “It’s just—I think everyone has their ideas about people, you know? Take Harry—you know, Harry’s actually quite a soft spoken, clever bloke if you know him. But if you only read the _Prophet_ you’d think he was this reckless, brash—incredibly gifted duelist or something.”

“He’s an amazing duelist.”

“Right, but that’s not why…” He sighed, leaning against her bookcase. “Yeah, he is. And you’re actually brilliant, just like everyone thinks you are. But you aren’t as…” he eyed the girl. “Prim and proper as—at least as _I_ thought you might have been.”

“If you think I’m a prude, just say so.” 

“That’s your word.” He waited, eyebrows raised. “Come on, just take the compliment.”

She snorted. “Oh, was there supposed to be a compliment in there somewhere?”

“Hermione,” he clasped his hands, trying to make her see. “You’re lovely. And I’ve had such fun with you. I just didn’t know what a right little flirt you’d be, alright?” He watched a smirk play at the corner of her mouth and felt relief wash over him. “You’re… you’re downright depraved, you know that, witch?” he grinned. 

“Thanks,” she said, smirking as she rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to report that you’re pretty much exactly the… clever-tongued man-child I expected you to be.” 

“And handsome?” he winked. 

“Average,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“See, now that hurts,” he laughed. “Can we start over? How was your day?” he asked, like they were two people who asked each other these questions.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “Yours?” 

“Shite, actually. I think our gala’s fucked.”

“Oh no. What is it?”

“Oh, nothing. McGonagall can’t do it anymore. She was supposed to be the keynote, you know. She’s one of the biggest names with Muggle blood in Britain…”

“Ah, rotten. And now you have to get someone else?”

He frowned. “Yeah, haven’t thought much about it yet. Suppose we’ll need to find someone that can do it in a week and a half.”

“Well,” she gave him a look, “I can think of someone else we know. Rather well-regarded… but she’s terribly prim,” she added with a curl of her lip.

“Right. Fuck, you would be amazing, of course,” he realized, taking her by the arms. She brightened, and he loved that he could do that to her. “Would you really want to do it?”

“I don’t see why not,” she said, smiling.

“Well that would be bloody brilliant.” He took her hand. “You’re free on the fourteenth?”

“Sirius,” she laughed, “I was obviously planning on going already.”

“Brilliant.” He took her other hand in his, then looked at her for a moment. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. 

He cleared his throat. “And?”

She rolled her eyes. “And I should have appreciated your misguided gesture—”

“—that’s your apology?” he grinned, amused. “You’re such an only child, you know that?”

“My apology is that I’ll speak at your event,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Fair enough.”

“How’s the pay?” she asked.

“Well… it is a charity event.”

“I’m joking!” she grinned, and he laughed down at his feet. 

“Well, I’m sure I could find another way to compensate you for your time, Miss Granger,” he began, finding no shortage of ideas in his head already. “We could advance it. Tonight, even. Starting with a nice dinner… Orethylia’s, maybe?”

Her eyebrows shot up and he wondered if it was too formal. “We’ll be seen,” she argued. 

_Right._ He cleared his throat. “I’ll find a nice Muggle place then. Or I’ll polyjuice myself and you can finally have your Ministry wizard,” he grinned. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, and that’ll go really well if we’re seen. Can’t wait to read the article about me in _Witch Weekly. ‘Pudish War Hero Finds Love At Office’._ ” She turned to shuffle through sheets of parchment on her desk. 

“Hmm, or, _‘Renowned Keynote Shows Her Wild Side’_?”

She laughed. “What kind of article is this?”

“Oh, they photographed everything. Followed us home afterward, even,” he grinned.

She chuckled, sliding some of the sheets into a folder. “Actually…” she turned back to him with a clever little smile on. “There is one way you could pay me back for this.” Her eyes were positively sparkling. “But it’s terribly prim.” 

“Oh?” he asked. “Go on.”

“After you go _home_ ,” she emphasized, “and after we meet up—not with you scaring the daylights out of me at my office—but for ice cream, at eight-thirty, _as we agreed_ ,” she paused to tap a reprimanding finger on his chest, and he rolled his eyes with a smirk. “After that, I want to…” she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and slowly released it. “I want to…” He took in her pink cheeks as she continued in a whisper, “scratch your back.”

He felt the air slowly leave his lungs. He shook his head, feeling a stupid grin spread across his face. Then he drew her in to kiss her. 

“So is that a yes?” she asked when they pulled away, her face alight.

 _Absolutely_. But as the images flooded his mind, he felt that familiar guilt beginning to creep in. “I can’t help but feel I’m getting the better end of the deal, here,” he said. “I’d really owe you heaps for doing the gala.”

“No, it actually sounds kind of fun to me,” she said, walking over to slide the folder into her bag. She plucked her coat off the hook, then spun around to face him again. That shine was back on her pink-stained face. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes dancing between his. Then she continued. “Yeah—wielding my influence and power for the benefit of others.” A smile threatened to split her face open as she shied away from his gaze. “I admit I’m probably better with written words, but—” she covered her mouth as an adorable giggle spilled out, “—I can be pretty good with my mouth as well,” she laughed again, stepping close to lean in toward his ear. “And I’m looking forward to speaking at your fundraiser, too.”

A faint groan sounded in his chest. “You bloody minx. I’ll personally see to it that no one ever refers to you as proper again.” 

“Promise?” she asked. But before he could agree, she stole his words away with her lips.


	7. Ice Cream

When Sirius got to the ice cream parlor, she was already waiting outside the door. “My jacket,” he grinned, tugging on the lapels. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Feel free to leave it at my place anytime.”

He bent to kiss her. 

“I like the scruff today,” she said breathily.

His hand went up to his cheek. “Yeah?”

They strolled through lamplit streets eating their cones. Hermione had lots of questions about the upcoming gala. In the few hours since he’d seen her, she’d already compiled a thorough list of talking points for her speech, and she wanted his help narrowing it down. Truly, it all could’ve worked, but he didn’t want her stuck writing an hour long speech. 

“Yeah, I think chronological works. Start with when you got your Hogwarts letter, that’s a great idea,” He took a bite of chocolate cone.

“And I could talk about how, if B.A.M.B.Y. had existed then, it would’ve been different,” she offered. 

“Lovely,” he grinned. “You’re a regular spokeswoman.”

“What about the word Mudblood, do you think it’s too, you know, crude for this?”

“Not at all,” he shook his head. “That whole section is going to be powerful. Some people have no idea what that must’ve been like. Myself included, really. Don’t shy away from that, if you can stand it.”

“Oh, I can stand it. I’ll wear short sleeves,” she said with a soft chuckle, touching her forearm. “Really drive the visual home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around her waist. 

“I’d rather people know,” she said, leaning into him for a moment. Then she pulled away, catching his hand in hers. “Besides, it’s already May. Spring is no time for covering up.” 

He laughed softly, giving her hand a squeeze. “Do you remember when I saw it for the first time? That day at the Burrow?”

“How could I forget? I thought you and Mrs. Weasley were going to kill each other.”

_“Will you pass the pumpkin juice, Hermione?” Arthur asked._

_As she reached for the pitcher, Sirius’ eye caught the raised pink lines on her arm. His brow furrowed as he realized they were letters. M-u-d-b-l—_

_“Circe, Hermione,” he said, standing abruptly. He caught his chair just before it hit the ground._

_“What?” she recoiled, eyes wide. She looked between his face and the pumpkin juice._

_He realized everyone was looking at him. “Your… your arm.”_

_“Sirius…” came Harry’s voice on his left._

_“Oh.” She tugged her sleeves down. “Just an old wound. Never mind it.”_

_“From the war,” Harry said softly, gesturing at Sirius’ chair._

_“Right,” he whispered, sitting slowly back down. A violent scene played in his mind over the quiet din of clinking silverware._ She was just a fucking kid then, _he thought. He tried vainly to catch her eye. Then he slid his foot out under the table, finally bumping against a cold toe._

_Her eyes widened as she looked directly at him._

_“I’m sorry,” he said across the table._

_“Don’t worry about it,” she shook her head, pressing her lips into a smile._

_He knew he should leave her in peace, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Who did it?”_

_The room went quiet, and Sirius felt eyes on him again. Hermione looked at Harry, a question. He saw his godson tilt his head in response, a little shrug._

_“Sirius,” Molly clucked, like he was one of her brood, “maybe it’s not the best topic…”_

_Hermione frowned at that, and Ron piped up, “Why not let_ her _say, mum?”_

_The girl only scowled further. “Ron—”_

_“Hermione—” said Molly._

_“Mum—” said Bill and George together._

_Everyone stopped to let the others continue, until Hermione finally said, “I really don’t mind, Mrs. Weasley. He wasn’t there—he doesn’t know.”_

_“Of course, love. But I was thinking of Sirius, too.” She turned to him. “You’ve had to take in so much, dear, and it’s hardly been a month. I know how hard it’s been on you.”_

_He gritted his teeth._

_“Eez eet for you to say, Molly?” asked Fleur, and he could’ve kissed her._

_Percy choked briefly on his dinner roll as his siblings around the table snickered with varying levels of openness._

Sirius took a bite of his cone, brushing his thumb over the back of Hermione’s palm. “Molly heart’s in the right place. I’m still a bit jealous she got to off Bellatrix, though. Bet you would’ve liked to Avada that fucking nutter too, yeah?”

Hermione shuddered. “She was terrifying.” Sirius clenched his jaw, gripping her hand too hard. She gave his hand a squeeze. “Alright?” she asked, and he blinked Bella’s face away. He squeezed her back. 

“Hmm, is it better like this?” she asked, clasping his hand. “Or this?” She changed her grip to lace her fingers between his.

“Definitely this,” he said, feeling her small hand enveloped in his. He tried to press each part of his palm and fingers into hers. He wanted to fold her body safely into his, tucked away from the world. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, munching her cone. 

“Imagine that. Just… you and I, walking down a dark street at night, holding hands.” He looked down at her. 

She hummed. “Is it different than being at my apartment together?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. 

“Different bad?”

He shook his head. “Strange, good. Lovely.”

She flashed a smile at him, licking her ice cream. He bounced his eyebrows at her and she looked away.

“It’s a really nice night,” she said. Then, catching his eye again, she took a long lick of her cone. 

“You eat slow, you know that? I’m almost finished,” he said, taking a bite of his.

“Ah, my apologies,” she giggled. He watched as she took another slow lick. 

He let out a soft ‘hmm.’

She laughed again, dipping her tongue into the cone. He watched the white cream disappear into her mouth. “Oops,” she said, turning it in her hand. Some had dripped over the edge. She wiggled her eyebrows at him and asked, “Have you thought more about later tonight?” just before pressing her tongue to the side of the cone and taking a long, luxurious lick to catch the drip. _The little tease._

A low chuckle sounded in his chest. “Some,” he admitted. He’d all but forgotten the gala before she brought it up. 

“Good,” she rasped, laving her tongue on the melting ice cream again. 

There was a streetlamp just ahead, and as they approached it, she leaned against the pole. “It’s been on my mind too,” she said softly, as he stopped on the sidewalk to stand opposite her. He kept his eyes locked on hers as she defiled what remained of her dessert.

“Alright, missy,” he finally rasped, “either you’re going to be finished with that right now, or we’ll have to leave early.”

“Aww, why?” she asked innocently, vanishing the rest of the cone. 

He pulled them both behind a parked auto and side-alonged her to Grimmauld Place with a _pop_.

As soon as they were on his porch he pressed her against the brick. “I have never in my life,” he growled into her ear, “seen someone eat an ice cream cone so obscenely.”

Her laugh turned to a breathy sigh as he descended on her neck. 

They soon hurried upstairs. In the hallway that led to his room, he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his middle. She squeaked a note of surprise and he claimed her mouth again. _Maybe the bedroom isn’t the best idea,_ the stuffy voice cautioned. 

He pushed open the door and carried her in, tossing her lightly onto the bed. She giggled, looking up at him with want in her face. He paused to take in the sight of her on his bed, shyly gripping his quilt as he stared down at her. 

_She’s nervous._

He ran a hand through his hair. “Is it alright, up here? We could always go down to the—”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding rough. “This is good. Come here.” She patted the bed beside her and he sat next to her, smoothing a hand on the outside of her thigh. 

“Okay,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. 

And her hands were on his waist, her fingers working at the button of his jeans. He started to stop her, then brought his attention back to her lips instead. His hands went to her jaw, her hair. It slowed her down some. 

Then she was unzipping his jeans, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He felt her tug his jeans down past his hips and he inhaled a sharp breath. 

“Is it okay?” she asked, pulling away to look at him. 

He tried to read her face. Normally she was so expressive, but there were too many emotions written in her features now. “Are you sure about it?” he asked.

“So, same question?” She raised her eyebrows at him. 

He smiled, and when she responded in kind he felt a little calmer. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said. 

“Sirius,” she chided, “I asked for this, remember?”

“You’re allowed to change your mind, though.”

“Are you changing your mind?”

They looked at each other, her hands still on his waistband. 

“No,” he whispered. 

“Good,” she said. “Me neither. Now lay back.” And she pulled his jeans off. But somehow even on his back, with her hands on him, he couldn’t shake the sense that he was the one corrupting her. 

Her fingers slid under the band of his trunks, and he sat up slightly. “Let me kiss you first,” he said. 

“Oh!” she squeaked, pulling her hands away. “Are you not…” her eyes lingered on the crotch of his trunks. 

_God, woman._ He certainly was. “It’s not that,” he laughed, pulling her onto the bed beside him. “I just want to kiss you.” 

It was the truth. His tongue swept against hers. He pulled her lip between his teeth, gripped her arse until she was breathing heavily. Funny how only a few days ago this had felt nearly as forbidden as the act he was now trying to delay. He rolled on top of her, pressing his body against hers. He was caught between the desire to move slowly and to grind himself against her.

“Hey,” she said on an exhale. “You’re supposed to be on your back.” Her eyes glinted up at him. 

“Make me,” he grinned. And with a whoosh, a force pushed him back into the bed. She winked, propping herself up on an elbow. “Getting a bit better with that fucking wandless magic, yeah?” he laughed. 

“We should duel sometime,” she said, raising her eyebrows. 

“Sounds like fun,” he agreed, propping himself up to mirror her. 

She let a finger trace over his shirt, down his chest. “Are you done with this?” she asked, pulling at the hem. 

He nodded, and she cast an _Evanesco_ with her hand. His shirt disappeared with a loud snap.

He watched her eyes travel over his chest, glowing under her gaze. 

“How about this?” he asked, sliding his finger under the neckline of her blouse. There was a glint in her eye as she breathed a ‘yes’. 

He vanished the garment. He drank in her smooth skin, pale against a black bra. Two perfect handfuls spilled just slightly over the cups. The Muggle push-up bra was an incredible invention. “Beautiful,” he breathed, leaning in to plant a kiss on her collarbone. 

“How is yours so quiet?” she frowned.

“What? The vanishing spell?” he laughed. “Competitive, aren’t you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing him onto his back. “Sometimes.” She planted a row of little kisses leading from his lips down to the center of his chest. Then she swung her leg over his waist and settled on him. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, relishing the weight of her. His hands went instinctively to her hips.

“How many tattoos do you have?” she asked, tracing her fingers over the ink on his chest.

He thought for a moment. “Good question. North of thirty, I think.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

He chuckled. “Hard to say. This was one of my first—James was there.” He pointed to the dragon on his ribcage. _And Peter._

She smiled. “And this one’s new, right?” She traced her finger over the phoenix’s wings on his left shoulder. “After you came back?”

He nodded. 

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?” she teased, and he laughed with her. 

“Just don’t ask me what they all _mean_ ,” he stressed the word. “Like, this one means ‘I fucking like Celtic runes’, for example. And this one means ‘ravens are bloody beautiful’.” 

“Hmm,” she said, nodding. “I kind of want to get one.”

“Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Black.” 

“Well, you’re full of surprises. What would you get?”

She considered, her fingers still tracing their gentle patterns across his chest. “I suppose everyone gets their patronus…”

He laughed. “Yeah, now that’s a bit on the nose. I actually have Padfoot on my back, but he’s with Prongs and Moony, so it’s completely different,” he winked.

“Oh, what happened to Wormtail?” 

“Covered him over with a bush,” he shrugged, pulling her down to kiss her. 

She sighed into his mouth, tracing her tongue over his. Then he felt her hand slide under the waistband of his trunks. She moved in slow, teasing motions, steering clear of his package at first. He ran his palms down her back and she withdrew her hand, only to brush lightly over his erection through the fabric of his shorts. “Mmm,” he groaned. 

“Good?” she asked. He nodded. “Can I touch you?” It was such a sweet and completely unnecessary gesture for her to ask. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. And she was under his shorts, her small hand encircling him. “Fuck.” 

“Wow,” she pulled back to raise her eyebrows at him. 

“Oh?” he laughed. She stroked down his shaft and he felt his expression melt.

“You’re so big.” He knew it was what every man wanted to hear, and he had heard it before. But something about the matter-of-fact way Hermione bloody Granger told him he had a big cock had him grinning like a schoolboy at her as she palmed him. 

“Thanks,” he rasped. 

Her face was flushing again. She pumped her hand down the length of him three more times and his breath quickened rapidly. Then she was climbing off, pulling his trunks down. 

She sat up this time, straddling over his legs, and took his cock in her hand again. “Fuck,” he groaned. _Watching_ this would be something else. He’d finished himself twenty minutes before their date and still he had a feeling this could be over quickly.

Just the sight of her little hand wrapped around his hard cock was a positively sinful image, but then she was sliding her body down, bringing him to her _mouth._

_Circe._

“Hermione,” he said, his voice rough, “You don’t have to…”

She frowned. “I’m not… I know I don’t. I want to. Can I?” she asked, licking her lips. 

“Fuuuck,” he growled, letting his head fall back onto the mattress. 

“Sirius?” came her voice. “If you’re not comfortable…”

“I’m very fucking comfortable, Hermione.”

A laugh tumbled from her lips, and then they were on him. She began almost like a kiss, barely taking the tip into her mouth. He wondered how familiar she was with doing this. Then he felt her tongue flicking—caressing _—_ the top of his shaft. “Mmm,” he groaned. She took in the head of his cock next, her mouth hot and wet. She moved slowly, inching down his shaft until she had nearly half of him inside. 

He propped himself up to watch and almost regretted the decision. Seeing her plump lips parted around his cock already had his balls tightening. She could surely feel the pulse of him on her tongue. 

“Hermione,” he hissed, and she pulled off of him with a _pop_. “You don’t have to… I didn’t necessarily expect—with your mouth. You can just use your hand…” he managed feebly, while a louder part of his brain screamed at him to shut up.

She looked up at him, her left cheek mostly obscured by his throbbing member. Was she wearing a smirk? “If you _really_ want to, we can go back to that,” she shrugged, “but I honestly feel like I’m not as good with my hand. As with my mouth,” she added unnecessarily.

“You were good at that. Fucking good at this too,” he murmured, and she began again. As he watched himself disappear into her mouth, he tried to think of other things. _You’re stepping onto the Quidditch pitch. Broomstick between your legs_. Hermione was between his legs. _No. Look, there goes the Quaffle. The wind rushing in your ears, it’s a beautiful blue sky._ It was dark. Raining—she was soaked, sucking vanilla ice cream out of her cone. _A Bludger cracks against your head. You’re off your broomstick. Poppy Pomfrey’s setting all your fucking bones and there’s no pain potion._ Hermione swirled her tongue over the head of his cock. 

“Fuck, love, stop for a minute, yeah?” 

He stared down at her. She cocked her head. “Alright?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, pushing back a stray curl from her face. She didn’t usually plait it, but he supposed it was like her to plan, down to the hairstyle, for this moment. 

“Can I ask…” she hesitated. 

“Anything.”

“Has it, um, been awhile?”

He laughed. “Yeah.” 

She pondered, stroking her hand down him absently. “Since before the veil?” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you want the date and time?”

“Since before Azkaban?” she challenged. 

He cleared his throat. “I’ve had _sex_ since the veil,” he clarified. “But yeah, it’s been awhile since… this,” he tried for a casual shrug. 

She hummed. “That’s a lot of pressure. Anything I can do to make it… you know, really good?”

“It is really good, love,” he laughed. “I wanted to take care of you first tonight, but you’ve been very persuasive.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Me? No, this is supposed to be about you,” she insisted. 

“So you say,” he sighed. “If there’s anything _I_ can do to make it better for you…” 

She blinked slowly up at him, her eyes darkening before him. She smiled, looking down. “I don’t know.”

“What?” he asked, but she shook her head, still smiling. “Isn’t this _your_ payback for the gala? Tell me what you want, love.”

She looked up at him with pink on her cheeks. “Oh, just the usual,” she sighed. “You know I like things a bit…” she looked away. “Rough. Using your words. That.” 

His breathing quickened. _Yes. Fuck, anything you want._ “Get up,” he said roughly.

“What?” she sat up. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hermione,” he said, pulling himself up to catch her chin between his finger and thumb. He kissed her hard on the mouth, then looked at her sternly. “Get on your knees.” 

“Oh, god,” she gasped, and he watched her breathing rapidly increase. She sat slowly back on her heels, eyes flitting about his face, his body, the room. Color was spreading over her face and down her neck, and she seemed rooted to the spot.

“Too much?” he asked, smoothing his thumb over her cheek. 

“Mmm,” she sighed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her lips, her chin. 

“Fuck,” she said under her breath, eyes far away.

He laughed. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you curse.”

She smiled, a soft chuckle sounding in her chest. 

“Sorry, that was too much.”

“No!” She looked at him. “Well—I guess, a little. But, god…” her eyes flickered between his. “I’ve never had to ask for _less_ before. It’s a nice change.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. _No one else can give you what you want, is that it?_ he thought. “Can I try again?” he asked gently.

She nodded, a slow smile spreading on her face. 

“Hermione, love,” he murmured against her temple, “will you do something for me?”

Her breath quickened slightly and she gave a quiet ‘mhm’.

“Good,” he whispered, and she drew in a sharp breath. _Like brewing a bloody potion,_ he mused. _Two and a half drops of monkshood oil’s too much, but with just two, she’s simmering beautifully._ “I want you to get down on your knees for me, love. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” she rasped, climbing off the bed with some haste to oblige him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hate to leave you hanging here but this scene gets long! As a compromise, next chapter coming sooner than usual - probably by Friday :)


	8. Post-Ice Cream

“I want you to get down on your knees for me, love. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” she rasped, climbing off the bed with some haste to oblige him.

“That’s good,” he said, casting a cushioning charm on the floor under her knees. He rose to join her, standing half a pace in front of her. His skin tingled in anticipation. “Now tell me what you want, darling.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I want you.”

“Do you want to put your mouth on me?” he asked, squeezing her shoulder. Another ‘mhm’. “Good girl,” he whispered, and she opened her mouth in a gasp. 

“Fuck, Sirius,” she groaned. He watched her breasts rise and fall in the cups of her bra as she breathed. She used her hand first, then her lips were on him again. 

“Mmmm,” he moaned. The power of the new position, standing over her as she knelt before him, seemed to amplify the wet slide of her mouth over him. “God.”

She whimpered, a soft little sound muffled by his cock in her mouth. 

“Slow,” he said, letting the word drip off his tongue. Not a suggestion.

She hummed her acknowledgement, stuffed with him. 

He brought his fingers down to rest under her jaw. A quill scratched the image into his memory—her ruddied cheeks, pert mouth opened around him. Eyes on him, asking, wanting. He shuddered to think of what he could do to this woman. 

“That’s perfect,” he rasped, trailing his thumb up to her temple. He brushed the wayward curl behind her ear again. _Wild witch,_ he thought. _You’re as untamed as that mane of yours._ He traced a line along her head back to the plait. “Can I undo this?” he asked, giving it a little tug.

“Mmm!” She stopped to apologize, her hands flying back to the elastic at the end of her braid. 

“Hey.” He took her arms. The _ideas_ she was putting in his head. “Did I say you could stop, love?” He sent her a sweet smile, softening it.

“God, Sirius! How? How are you so…” Her voice was playful, incredulous even, but he could see her muscles relaxing, her eyebrows twisting into that pleading look he was growing to like so well. 

He gave a halfhearted shrug, trying to banish the smirk from his face. She laved him with her tongue, an apology, maybe. “Mhh, yeah,” he croaked. He vanished the elastic band, slowly undoing the ropy curls of her braid as she carried on. 

When her hair finally hung loose around her shoulders, he gave her a little nod of approval. She closed her eyes on a soft ‘hmm,’ swallowing another inch of his length. 

“God, Hermione,” he whispered, tracing his fingers through her curls. She felt incredible; he could’ve easily finished at any moment. But standing over her, he was feeling a seductive sense of control over them both.

She’d read his queues well and continued to slide a little further down his cock with each hot stroke of her mouth. He gathered her hair into his fist, winding it around his hand to give her a slow pull. This sent her whimpers into a higher octave, and he relaxed his hold a little, searching her face for a signal. She blinked up at him slowly, responding with a slight nod. 

“Love watching you take it,” he murmured, the words flowing easily. “So good.” 

She quickened her pace, and her hand came up to cover his on the back of her head. For a moment he thought it was too much, and she meant for him to let go. But she held it in place, pushing her head firmly along the length of his cock under their hands.

“Fuck,” he rasped, taking the direction. He applied light pressure, guiding her toward and away from him as she bobbed on his shaft. Pushing, pulling that wet little mouth just where he wanted. Low groans resonated in his chest, beyond his control. This feeling of dominating her was almost too much. 

“Close?” she paused to ask. Her hand pumped his cock as she looked up at him with lust in her eyes. He nodded. “Where do you want to finish?” she breathed. This fucking woman. _Anywhere, immediately_. 

He wondered if he’d lost the ability to speak. “Uhh,” the word turned into a moan as she replaced her hand with her lips again. _Come down her throat, paint her face,_ a wicked voice tempted. “Fuck,” he hissed, trying to regain himself. He summoned his wand, not up for much without it. Hermione looked at him quizzically until he conjured a handkerchief. 

“Hmm,” she said with him in her mouth. The vibration made him draw in a sharp breath. She switched to her hand. “You don’t want to come in my mouth?” 

_Fucking Christ_. Even her voice sounded so different; low and airy. She slid her lips over him again. “Or on my chest?” _Who taught you to talk like that?_ When he didn’t answer, she uttered a soft ‘Please?’.

_Anything_ , he thought. Anything she wanted. He slid a finger under the strap of her bra. “Do you want to keep this on?”

“Mmm,” she sighed, shaking her head. 

“God, you’re such a good girl.” She keened, moaning around him. He pulled the straps down, going slow for himself. “Going to be good for me? Hmm?”

“Mhm,” she nodded enthusiastically. He would never again be able to hear that affirmative sound from her plump lips without imagining his cock between them. He bent down to rub his thumb over the cup of her bra, finding her hard nipple. _Those beautiful fucking sounds you make._ He wanted to keep drawing it out, but he was desperate to see her, bared at his feet. He flicked the clasp open and pushed the garment off.

“God, your tits,” he whispered, thrusting into her mouth. She responded with a heady sigh. He needed to make sure she stayed with him. “You’re okay, love. So good,” as he leaned down again to palm her breast. He squeezed, relishing the feel of her soft flesh, her hard peak. 

“Gonna make me come?” His other hand had wound into her hair again, he didn’t know when. “Yeah?” She was breathing fast. He didn’t need much hurrying. He rolled her other nipple between his fingers, coaxing a high moan from the girl. “So close. Going to paint your sweet tits, love.” He stood straight again, pulling her head into him, holding her in place while he snapped his hips. She whimpered in his grip, holding on tightly to his thighs. 

“Fuck, yes,” he grunted, finally pulling out of her mouth with a _pop_. He bent to aim his cock at her chest. He pumped once, twice, and shot a spray of come onto her tits. 

“Circe,” he swore, when his senses returned a moment later. He knelt on the floor in front of her. Her face held that faraway look. “Alright, love?” He moved to clean her up, first with the handkerchief, then a Cleaning Charm. “That was incredible,” he said, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. Her eyes slid over to meet his, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Alright, Hermione?” he asked, running his hands over her shoulders. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, with a little smile. Her breaths were still coming quickly.

“Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. 

“Oh!” she gasped at the contact. 

“Sorry,” he pulled away. “Do you want your…” he looked around, then remembered they’d vanished both of their shirts. He summoned a flannel button-down from his closet and held it open for her. “How’s this?” 

She nodded, eyes unfocusing again. 

_Too much,_ he thought, beginning to worry. _Way too much._ He wrapped the shirt around her, pulling it tight across her chest. He found his shorts and put them on. “Can I hold you now?” he asked

“Yeah,” she choked. 

_What have you done?_ “Hey, love, you’re okay,” he murmured, pulling her close. “That was so, so much fun.”

She shuddered in his arms. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice sounding small. 

“ _Yes_. You were perfect, love.” He pulled her into his lap. “Are—are you okay, Hermione?” She sniffed, and he saw that her eyes were wet. _You fucking monster._ “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” she rasped. “Don’t be.” 

“Hey,” he murmured, wiping her eyes. “You’re okay.” _Please be okay._

They stayed, wrapped up like that for a while. Sirius stared vacantly at his closet while he listened to the long breaths coming from the bundle of Hermione in his arms.

“Sorry,” she said, resurfacing. She started to climb out of his lap.

He clung onto her shirt—his shirt, for a moment. “No—hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“Yeah. I know,” she stood up. “It’s… I don’t know. I think maybe I should go.”

He rose to stand beside her. “Go?” he said, his voice suddenly sounding tenor. 

“Sorry—”

“—don’t say that—”

“—I, oh. Sorry,” she shook her head with a little chuckle. “Just… a bit out of sorts.”

_Because you just fucked her throat like a disgusting pig._ He gave her hand a squeeze. “Hermione…” he had no idea what to say. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.” But she was halfway to the door. 

“Let me at least walk you out,” he said, hurrying to put on his jeans. He strode over quickly. 

They descended the stairs in silence. He tried a hand on her lower back, but it felt too controlling. Then in a blink they were at the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want to floo?” he asked. “I know you’re not feeling—yourself.” 

“No, I’ll be fine,” she said airily. 

“Can I… do you want a kiss?”

She nodded, and her face was screwing up again. He wrapped her in a tight hug instead. “I wish you would stay,” he pleaded into her hair.

“I don’t think I can.” Her voice sounded choked as she clung to him. “I—we’ll see each other again.” His stomach dropped. He pictured seeing her at the Burrow, making niceties. 

“Hermione, I don’t know what got into me, there, but I—”

“—no, I don’t want you to worry about that,” she said, pulling away. “Please.” An instruction. “I’m fine. Just—I need some air, alright?” 

_And you’re going to smother her._ “Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll message you on the Galleon later.” He relaxed a little at that. 

“And let me know you got home safe, alright?” 

“Of course.” She stood tall to brush her lips against his. “Bye.”

_Pop._

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” he said to the empty porch. He kicked a flower pot over, breaking it into pieces. 

\------------------

Once inside her flat, Hermione collapsed onto her couch. She let out a long, shaky breath. She knew she’d left Sirius in quite a state. If she’d been more herself, her mind would be a rushing river of anxiety. As it was, she felt like an orange that had been squeezed completely dry. 

_But it was so good._ She remembered seeing him, unclothed and erect for the first time. His hands in her hair. His cock on her lips. She shuddered as the scenes dripped through her mind, scorching hot. She’d wanted him, wanted all of it _just_ as he’d done it. In an hour he’d made all her other relationships look like clumsy encounters with schoolboys. 

_Some of them_ were _schoolboys,_ she reminded herself. But even Viktor had only been able to deliver a shadow of what Sirius had made her feel. Not that she’d ever felt she could ask for things the way she really wanted them, from him. She tried to imagine Cormac finishing on her chest. Filth on Ron’s tongue. Eddie bloody Carmichael asking her to get on her knees—now that would be rich. To think she could’ve gone the rest of her life, believing those quick, graceless collisions beneath the sheets were all it was.

_Love watching you take it_ , he’d said. Her mouth curled into a smirk. Perhaps she should’ve let him ‘take care of her’, as he’d so neatly put it. 

But there was something so frighteningly intimate about it all. She felt at times he was unraveling her with his eyes. Not just her clothes, but her whole body, her very being. He had only to ask and she might bare everything to him; unfiltered, defenseless. Not that she thought he’d actually hurt her. He’d made it abundantly clear. But it turned her sex-addled brain on itself when all she wanted was for him to pin and pull and push her around. When she was caught up with him, at the height of things, she almost didn’t recognize herself. And then after, when she was forced to reconcile that with the way she was—thought she was… 

_I should really write some of this down for my appointment on Friday_ , she thought.  She was just getting up to grab her journal when she felt her pocket warm. 

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath. She hadn’t messaged him yet. She fished the Galleon out, but found the letters were unchanged. _Must’ve imagined it,_ she thought. She tapped her wand on the coin. 

_Home safe_

She rolled it between her fingers, impatient to read what he would say. 

_Good._

She rolled her eyes. _Get a grip, Hermione._ It was one bloody word. On a coin. It did not mean _that_. She was about to shove it back in her pocket when she saw the letters changing again. 

_Alright?_

She smiled, resisting the urge to hug it against her chest. 

_Yes, promise._


	9. A Book

_Still on tonite?_

Hermione fingered the Galleon. She was a stew of emotion since she’d last seen Sirius, and guilt was the murky broth everything else swam in. His tone seemed to be getting calmer in the owls they’d exchanged, at least, but she knew they’d still have a lot to talk about later on. She’d arrived at her therapist’s office with more notes than usual on Friday, anxiously waiting in the reception room. 

The coin warmed. 

_Of course._

“Hermione?” Opal greeted her, waving her into the office. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reschedule, hopefully you made it through yesterday alright, though?” 

One hour and ten minutes later, Hermione was home, pacing her flat. When the floo roared to life, she crossed the room in three strides. “Hey.”

  
“Hi.”

“Sirius, I’m so sorry for—”

“—no, I’m the one—”

They both stopped, taking the other in. 

“I missed you,” she whispered, and he swept her up in a hug. 

After she’d sat them down for tea, Sirius cleared his throat. “So, I did something very ‘Hermione’,” he said, giving her a sheepish look. “I bought a book.”

“Oh, Virginia Woolf? I’d almost forgotten,” she lied, remembering exactly where her copy of _The Waves_ was still stashed in her bag from last weekend. 

“Oh shit, me too. No, I got a book about—” he cleared his throat, “—BDSM. Nonfiction,” he clarified.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, the word stretching into multiple syllables. 

“Which I know isn’t—I mean, there are many parts to—that,” he continued swiftly, “and I know you’re not, well, you haven’t expressed any interest, at least, in some of the parts.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But there were a few chapters that I found to be very… relevant.” 

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “And these chapters were on…?”

He flashed her a quick smile, then his eyes flitted back down to his mug. “Dominance was one.”

“And,” she blushed, “submission.”

“Yeah. And then the one after those was called ‘Dominance and submission’,” he finished, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Alright,” she said, feeling like she would melt into a puddle of shame. So he’d read some book for weird people like her, because—why? _Not weird,_ she told herself, knowing what Opal would say about that train of thought. She didn’t even know there was literature on the topic. “What, um—what made you get this book?”

He cocked his head. “Well… Wednesday?” She blinked at him, and he continued, “you know, when I was so—rough with you, you had to leave the premises? Doesn’t ring a bell?” The words could’ve been cutting but he spoke them almost like a plea.

“I…” she frowned. “Sirius, it wasn’t your fault, I’ve told you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you have. But it really felt like it, when—after, you know, all of that, and you wouldn't even let me…” he sighed. “Which I know—it’s your choice to leave, and I want to support that, of course.” He took a drink from his mug. “Do you have anything stronger, actually?”

“Of course,” she popped up from the couch, heading for the kitchen. “Butterbeer? Or I have a bottle of rosé…”

“Butterbeer’s fine.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Thanks,” he said, stepping in front of her to open the refrigerator. She tried to remember if she’d thrown out the old takeaway boxes yet. “One for you?” he asked.

“Sure.” 

He opened both bottles and handed one to her. 

“Was that a spell?” she asked, wondering how he’d popped the caps so quickly.

“Muggle trick,” he grinned, holding up the end of the zipper on his jacket. He magicked the top back onto his bottle to demonstrate it for her. “Works with anything hard,” he shrugged. 

“See now, it’s a good thing I’m such a bad hostess I didn’t even take your jacket,” she laughed. 

“What, and let you steal it again?” He leaned back against her counter, and she did the same on the opposite side of the small kitchen.

“You left it!” she laughed.

“So, the book.” He took a long drink before continuing. “Everyone’s got their own little quirks, but… learning that you kind of fit into this certain archetype, I think it’s helpful to have that as a reference point.”

“And how do you know I fit this archetype?” she challenged.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Not ‘you’ you. I meant it like ‘one’ fits a certain archetype. I was talking about myself.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her mind beginning to whir. 

“To be fair, you’re right too. I think it’s pretty clear you fit the submissive bill. Lucky for me,” he winked, and she felt her stomach flip. 

“But, yeah,” he continued, shaking his head at the floor, “at first I felt like a right barbarian when you left mine. Then after, you know, finding some china of Walburga’s to break, I thought to do a bit of reading,” he laughed. “And it’s kind of nice to find there are plenty of other blokes—and women—that’re into all kinds of ‘ _rough play_ ’,” he enunciated these new vocabulary words with a bounce of his eyebrows, spreading heat across her face. “And others who really enjoy being on the receiving end. Which sounded a lot like you.”

“Obviously,” she said, trying to keep from bursting into flame as she trained her eyes on the linoleum.

“Obviously,” he repeated, with a grin in his voice. “Because I know you like the feeling of—how did you put it—giving up control?”

“It’s not that uncommon among women, you know. Pretty normal, in fact,” she defended.

“Oh, that’s definitely right,” he nodded. “And I don’t really give a fuck what’s normal, if we’re both having fun.”

She finally found the courage to meet his eyes then, and was met with a warm stare. 

“Some people even like ropes and chains and all that, too. What do you think of that, love?” he asked with a teasing grin.

She drew in a breath. “Bit theatrical,” she said airily, and he laughed. “Not that I wouldn’t try something, if you, um, if you really wanted to,” she said, her heart thudding in her chest. “But I think for me it’s more… verbal, mostly. Taking initiative. Having _mental_ power over—over me,” she finished quietly.

“Right,” he said gently. “‘Cause that’s new for you.” 

“Don’t patronize,” she huffed.

“I wouldn’t,” he cajoled. “I meant it.” 

“You flatter me,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes on her. “It can’t be both, though, can it?” He shifted his position, and for a moment she thought he was going to come and sweep her up again. But instead he pushed himself up to sit on the counter, still watching her across the room. “So, I was hoping you’d hear me out on something, since I read it in a _book_ , and it was written by an expert.”

“Alright.”

“If we’re going to try anything like that again, _stay_ with me after. I’m meant to—to hold you, and make sure you’re alright. Which I didn’t really need the fucking book to tell me, ‘cause it’s all I wanted to do when you were trying to leave.”

“But…” she searched for an argument, already feeling like he was seeing straight into her. “It can’t just be about what you want, can it?” she challenged. “That’s a ‘you’ thing.”

“But it’s in the book!”

“ _That_ book, yes. What do the others say? How do we know you didn’t just find the one that… resonated most with your need to fix everything yourself?” _That was it._

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s true, you have to admit it. You’re still bent out of shape because of—of everything you missed. Everyone you couldn’t save— _that’s_ why I think you should be seeing a therapist, too.”

“I don’t know that I need to…”

A musical laugh tumbled from her lips. _The gall!_ Like she was the confused one, the only one that needed to see someone. “You’re kidding, right? Seeing Pettigrew escape—twice! Then we lost Professor Lupin while you were already gone. There’s also Dumbledore, and Fred and Tonks who you didn’t really get to say goodbye to, and loads of others. Oh, and let’s not forget the twelve years of dementors you endured. Then you were forced to live in a literal cave.” It was insane, really, what he’d been through. Plenty of other wizards would’ve landed in St. Mungo’s. “And all of this during one of the darkest and most bloody wars the wizarding world has seen. Then you basically turn into Rip Van Winkle… oh but you’ll be just fine, you can handle that without a professional,” she mocked.

“Rip Van Winkle, that’s pretty good,” he tipped his head.

“So you won’t even consider it?” she said flatly.

He frowned. “I’d never really thought of it.” 

“Well, you should.”

“But what’s the point? We already know what they’re going to say. Mummy issues. Childhood abuse and trauma. Like you said, friends all died or betrayed me, so I didn’t have a normal young adulthood, that’s a bit of an identity crisis, there. Still feel like I failed James when it comes to Harry; then I defiled his young friend at wandpoint, and now she won’t even let me treat her well. Sound about right?”

“So you obviously see the benefit?” she said, eyebrows raised.

“I just told you, I already know what all my shit is. That’s not the point I was trying to—”

“—but that’s only step one. After that, they help you actually work through these things. Give you strategies—and not just vices,” she raised her bottle, “actual coping mechanisms to help you deal with everything.”

He shrugged.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “We all went through a lot during the war. Wars, in your case. And then we had time to grieve and process and adjust—and lots of us went to therapy. And, see, we all had the benefit of processing that grief together—but you’re still in that place. You’ll only keep getting stuck on these things if you don’t address them.” 

His eyes were somewhere else for a moment. Then he blinked, shaking his head. “I think we’re getting off track here. I’m talking about you and me, this week, right now. I came here to tell you about the book. Which is basically a self-help book, really, isn’t that the same thing? And it’s actually about the present conflict,” he pressed, beginning to sound frustrated, “which I’ve got a feeling you’re trying to avoid.”

“Okay, one—no, it’s not the same. And two—you can’t just talk about the present as if your entire bloody past didn’t lead up to it!” 

“How about this? How about, yes, we’re all a little fucked up from every fucking thing Voldemort put us through, yeah? And—”

“—and you’re the only one who hasn’t processed—”

“—And, _and_ , I was going to say,” he shook his head, losing the thread for a moment. “Fine, _I’m_ fucked up—but why can’t it be both? I’m fucked up, _and_ it would be better if you stuck around with me, after we did all that stuff that—fucks with your head. It’s not that much to ask, is it?”

“I…” she faltered. “But it is, I think,” she sighed, still trying to make sense of it. “It did feel like a lot to ask. I just needed to… sort myself out a bit, is all. We’re fine now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, two days later.” He blew out a breath. “Wouldn’t it be better if we sorted together, in the moment? Why is it only me that needs to talk through things with someone?”

She huffed.

“Look, I know it probably made you feel… vulnerable, and maybe a little… scared? Or confused?” 

She drew her arms across her stomach. “Why would you think that?” 

He gave her a level look. “Chapter three, I guess. Also, I was there—I’m not stupid.”

 _This bloody book!_ She wasn’t sure if she should feel more offended that it seemed to have lifted these thoughts straight from her brain, or that he’d gone and _read_ them all. _Fucking vulnerable indeed._ She took a drink, trying to find words.

“I just…” he said, his tone a little softer, “I’d much rather be there with you if you’re all out of sorts. Especially if it’s because of something I did to you.”

“But don’t you see how _that’s_ asking quite a lot of vulnerability, from me, in itself?”

“I…” his brow furrowed. “I guess not?”

She sighed, pushing herself up to sit on the counter. “I can’t just—” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “You’re making it sound a lot easier, and—and lighter than it… somehow is. Or—feels, to me. I don’t know. It’s not just a simple cuddle you’re asking, alright? It’s like, facing down this intimate experience, _together_ , but not as... “ she sighed. “This is why I wanted to wait until after my appointment to talk to you. It’s complex.”

“Yeah, it is,” he nodded.

She picked at the label on her bottle.

“So what did he say?”

"He?"

"Your shrink."

“ _She’s_ a woman,” she said with an exasperated huff. “And no one calls them that anymore.”

“Alright,” he put up his hands. “I’m sorry for the—egregious assumption,” he exaggerated. “Look, I know it’s a hard topic, and we don’t—we don’t really fucking know each other very well, Hermione. But if you’re going to be defensive we’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Well I’m _so_ sorry,” she started wryly, “I guess I’m not just—figuring it all out as _quickly_ as you want me too!”

“I’m not—I didn’t say that!” He was raising his voice too. “Will you just tell me, what did this—” he huffed, gathering himself some, “—this educated, brilliant female psychologist have to say?”

“Oh, very sincere. Really—way to dig yourself out, that’s much better. Why should I even tell you? It’s very personal,” she bit the words.

“Because you wanted to tell me!” he pointed out. “I have your letter that says so, I could show you! And—and because we’ve done extremely personal things to each other—a few times, now! And I think we both know it’s been fucking brilliant,” he pleaded, still half-shouting. She could see his knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter where he sat. “And I don’t care if you want to scream at me, we should—”

“—I’m not screaming!” she interrupted, struggling somewhat to make sure it was the truth. “I’m just not that bloody good at talking about it! Clearly! So, I’m sorry. And you’re just—asking for a lot, okay?” She took a deep breath, remembering her notes from the session. “And yes, as you point out, we don’t know each other very well. That’s something Dr. Knotley helped me identify too,” she sighed. She realized she was pacing the kitchen. She’d hopped down at some point in the heat of the argument. Now she slowly pushed back up to sit in her spot on the counter, as if to take back the steps along with the sharpness of her words.

“So, let’s get to know each other,” he shrugged, his demeanor changing as easily as the wind.

She snorted, still struggling to tame the fires of her own frustration. “As easy as that, is it?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s important to have each other’s trust—that’s in the book too,” he cocked an eyebrow at her. 

It was quickly becoming her least favorite book. “I don’t need a book to tell me I should trust you, Sirius. Obviously I trust you—if I’m bringing you to mine, and—and getting off with you! And putting my mouth—I was on my bloody _knees_! It’s pretty clear, of course I trust you!” She felt her face warm.

“Then why cry? Why try to hide yourself away, after?” 

She blinked down at her lap, already feeling the tears beginning to prick. He crossed the room, placing his hands on the counter on either side of her legs.

“Hermione,” he said softly, bending to try to catch her eye. 

She looked up instead. “It’s nothing. Honestly, I feel like I cry all the time,” she laughed. “Obviously.”

He smoothed a hand along the outer seam of her jeans. “Obviously,” he repeated with a chuckle.

“What? I…” she hesitated. She could hardly argue with her own statement.

“No, no.” He sent a gentle smile up at her. “You’re just always saying that,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But it’s really not obvious, sometimes. At least to me.”

She sniffed, lost in his gray eyes.

“But it’s good to know all the same,” he said with a wink. “See, we’re getting to know each other already.”

“Who says I’m here to get to know you?” she teased. “You know I only want you for your…” she raised her eyebrows.

He sighed. “You’re adorable when you’re being a little prude, you know that? I almost like it better than when you’re acting like a right harlot.”

“You’re an arse.”

“Mmm, but you love it,” he laughed.

“We’re insane, aren’t we?” she chuckled along with him. She looked around, searching for a change of subject. “How’s it been going with your new volunteer, by the way? I was right panicking when she got the idea to start working with you.”

“It’s fine, actually. Nice to get the chance to know her a bit better.”

“Well, she’s devious, just remember that. And a terrible gossip. Just, please be careful you don’t let something slip.”

“I thought you trusted me?” he grinned.

“Changed my mind, then, I guess,” she smirked. “Like, if you even said you were meeting someone—on the same night she knew I had a date…” 

“You think she’d suspect you and I?” he cocked an eyebrow at her

Hermione blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“And then what?”

“What?”

“What if she found out you were sleeping with Harry’s godfather?” he smirked.

“Oh, are we now?” she raised her eyebrows. “Because as I remember it, we had to make a deal just so I could get my hands on you.”

“Ah, but you’re the one standing in the way of the sleeping part. Always running off afterwards,” he said, tutting at her. 

“You ran too!” she laughed. 

“So, what happens, then, love?” 

“Come on! You don’t think it would be disastrous? Imagine Mrs. Weasley’s reaction,” she challenged, and even mentioning it made her feel queasy.

He snorted. “Well, I can tell you have.” And somehow, he hadn’t—it was clear enough. He took a swig of butterbeer. “Dunno, I suppose she hexes my bollocks off? I’ll have to have my wand ready, I guess.”

She tried to imagine what it was like, caring so little. 

“But,” he said, pushing off the counter and walking over to her recycle bin, “I imagine that all comes later, yeah? Sometime after the cuddling,” he winked. Like it was more ‘when’ than ‘if’.


	10. Getting to Know You

That Sunday found Hermione and Sirius both at the Burrow for dinner. In the morning she’d been torn between putting herself through another tense visit under the hawk-like eyes of the Weasley women, and fearing where their suspicious minds might wander if she and Sirius continued to make excuses not to show up. The meal began without incident until conversation turned to the gala.

“So, Hermione, heard you’re to be the new keynote,” said Arthur, as he cut up his granddaughter’s roast into bite-sized pieces.

“Yes,” she took a drink of pumpkin juice.

“Mummy, what’s a key-note?” Victoire asked. 

“Eet eez… “ Fleur cocked her head at her husband. “Qu'est-ce que c'est, Bill? En français?” 

“C’est une—like the main speaker at an event.”

“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “Très bien, ‘Ermione,” she flashed her a perfect smile, then turned to her daughter. “C’est le premier conférencier, ma chérie. At a big party.”

Hermione kept her eyes on Harry, but she could hear the grin in Sirius’ voice as he spoke in velvety French, “Oui, Victoire, elle est _très_ important.” 

“Such a shame, about Malcom McGonagall, isn’t it?” Mrs. Weasley tutted. 

“That reminds me, we’re still waiting on RSVPs from _some of you_.” Ginny shot a glance at her oldest brother.

Bill reached an arm around Fleur’s shoulders. “Yeah, been meaning to get on that. We’re still not sure…” He exchanged a look with his wife, then continued, “we might be, um, in Lyon.” 

“Well,” Ginny exaggerated airily, “we _might_ have room for you, if you decide to come last minute.”

“I want see grand-mère et bon-papa!” Dominique excitedly asked her father.

Fleur shifted in her seat, then kissed the girl on the head. “We will see, chérie.” 

There was a brief silence as Hermione noticed Ginny’s eyes dancing between the two parents, then Sirius said, “Well, don’t worry about it, Bill, it’s no rush. We’ll leave the headcount up to the interns,” he said, winking at Ginny. Hermione frowned at her plate.

“I almost forgot, you’re a paper pusher now,” George said to his sister. “How far you’ve fallen, from former Quidditch star,” he teased, shaking his head.

“Volunteer,” Harry corrected with a grin. “And I agree, love, when are you gonna drop this nonprofit, helping-the-vulnerable nonsense and do something really honorable, like sell fart potions?”

Ginny laughed along with the rest, then said, “Hey, this reminds me, I need to get a dress for Saturday, don’t I? I’d probably explode out of anything I have.” She laid a hand over her belly.

Angelina smiled across the table at her soon to be sister-in-law. “I want to get something new too, maybe let’s all go this week?” she included Hermione in her glance.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hermione began. 

“Come on,” Ginny cajoled. “You’re going to have two hundred fifty eyes on you, why not treat yourself to something new?”

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of roast. “I’ll probably just wear something I already have. Save my Galleons for the charity.” She made the mistake of catching Sirius’ eye. God, he was going to give them away just with the way he looked at her. 

“Your Galleons are no good, you’re already donating your time,” he grinned at her, then looked at Angelina. “Brilliant idea, why don’t you two help our keynote pick out something… striking? Got to represent the brand, doesn’t she?” 

“Really, I don’t think—” she began.

“Oh, B.A.M.B.Y. could foot the bill. We could add it to your contract!” Ginny giggled. 

“Absolutely not!” Hermione interjected. “I’ll pay for it myself, of course.” And as her eyes traveled from the wolfish grin on her friend’s face to the matching one on Sirius’, she knew she’d lost.

“Perfect,” Ginny smirked. “How’s Tuesday?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. She and Sirius were meeting up on Tuesday evening. “Wednesday?”

“Works for me,” Angelina said. “I haven’t been this excited since the Yule ball,” she laughed. “Should we meet up beforehand on Saturday and get ready together too?”

“Ooh! I don’t care if you’re joking, we’re doing it,” Ginny said, eyes sparkling. 

“We’re going to doll you up, miss speaker,” Angelina grinned. “Maybe you’ll even catch one of those two hundred fifty eyes at the gala?”

“Maybe.” Hermione flashed her a toothy smile, then looked down at her plate. _At least Ron and Lavender aren’t here today,_ she thought. She would’ve surely been invited too. 

“Or maybe she’s planning on bringing someone already,” Mrs. Weasley said. “What about that nice Ravenclaw boy you were seeing, love?” 

“She’s not seeing anyone at the moment, are you Hermione?” Angelina asked.

“Seems like the keynote speaker should have a date, though, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Weasley said, raising her eyebrows at the tablecloth. “Might be a nice excuse to ask someone,” she finished, giving her a knowing grin. 

“Yeah, I agree. Isn’t there—someone you could ask?” Sirius said innocently, looking over at Ginny.

Hermione cleared her throat. “What about the president of the charity? You’re single too, but no one seems to be concerned about whether you’re bringing someone,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Huh, how about that. Neither of us have dates…” Sirius began slowly, smirking at her, and suddenly she regretted her words. She felt as if her heart was in her throat. 

Her mind worked quickly as her eyes darted from Ginny to Sirius and back to her butterbeer. Her heart beat once, twice, until she could almost taste the blood, and she interrupted, “Actually, I already have a date. So! No need to worry, anyone. I thought bringing Viktor would be a nice idea.” She’d have to write him as soon as she got home. If not, she could always say he had to cancel later. “He’s got deep pockets, for one thing. And he must have fans from every sort of background,” she continued, avoiding eyes. “Muggle-borns and blood purists alike. I figured it would do them good to see one of their old heroes supporting B.A.M.B.Y.” It was actually a great idea. If he was available. “We’re just going as friends, though. So, sorry if that’s a let-down to any of you,” she smiled.

As if pulled by a magnet, her eyes locked onto Sirius’ steely gaze. She watched his face go from surprise to a flicker of something else that was quickly extinguished as a wry smile spread across his lips. “That’s perfect,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “And who knows, maybe you two will… rekindle an old flame, and make Molly here very happy?” he smirked. Hermione couldn’t help but note that there wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his voice. If anything, it sounded more like a challenge. 

\------------------

The following day, Sirius met Hermione for lunch at her favorite fish and chips place again. Since their talk on Friday, they’d agreed to meet only in public until they knew each other’s minds as well as they’d gotten to know their bodies. 

The host seated them closer to the window this time, and he was momentarily mesmerized by the sunlight on her curls as they sat down together. 

“So, Krum?” he asked innocently, after they’d placed their order.

She was already rolling her eyes, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “I had no choice!” she complained. 

“I knew you hadn’t asked him yet,” he said with a grin.

“Well, you were about to give us away.”

“Oh, was I?”

“I just thought…” she grabbed for her water glass, trying to hide her rosy cheeks from him. “Were you about to suggest we go together? Maybe that’s mad, but that’s what I was worried about.”

“Would it be mad… as friends? I mean, you are going with Krum as a friend,” he pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

She huffed.

“So, have you gotten an answer from him yet?”

“I should know by tonight. And you’re welcome, by the way. For the rich donor.”

“Sure, thanks. If he agrees to come. And if he makes a donation,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “I suspect he’ll be more interested in his date than my little charity.” He rested his elbows on the table.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll donate,” she shrugged. “He’s rich, and he obviously supports Muggle-borns. And you’re probably right—It’ll be a big check as long as I’m watching him fill it out.”

He laughed. “Just don’t break his heart, alright?”

“We’re just friends,” she assured him, “I made that very clear. Anyway, _we_ are supposed to be getting to know each other better, aren’t we? I suspect there are better topics for that than my friendship with Viktor Krum.” 

“Right. Well, why don't you start with the beginning.”

They split an order of fish and chips, and over the rest of lunch, Sirius learned more about the Muggle schooling system than he’d ever thought to ask. Hermione, too, seemed fascinated by all the different tutors he and his brother had studied with before they’d even started at Hogwarts. He picked up the bill, promising to let her do the same tomorrow. 

On Tuesday, they met for lunch at an Indian buffet and shared stories from their respective years at Hogwarts. Later that evening, they met up again for a moonlight walk, and she challenged him to chronicle the same years without mentioning Moony, Prongs, or Wormtail. He laughed at first, finding it difficult to recollect any part of those formative years that didn’t include the Marauders. The four of them were like large, strong boulders that made up the foundation of his life—though Peter’s, of course, had a crack running through it. Everything else seemed to be just the mortar in between; a Potions lab partner here, a Charms professor there, a fifth-year girl with dark eyes, all finely ground and swirled together into a meaningless paste between the big things. 

But as he thought about it, he realized there were other important building-block sort of people in his life. Some weighed heavily in his memory, like the dark, glittering stone that was Regulus. Others were strong granite like Lily. Marlene must’ve been made of something hard too, as headstrong as she was; but she shattered so easily in the end, too.

All this he told Hermione, or tried his best to. When it came to James and Lily, Marlene, and the others that had fallen in the war, he found himself searching for words. So she offered stories of her own. He learned about Neville’s brave heart and the beautiful way Luna Lovegood saw the world. Hermione told him about the girls of Hogwarts; Lavender and Parvati, Katie Bell and Angelina, Hannah Abbot; though none were ever as close to her as Ginny, all had their moments of camaraderie. He already remembered the rotten little rich girl called Pansy Parkinson from Harry’s stories, and after hearing some of Hermione’s he had a strong desire to throttle her. She talked about McGonagall and the other professors she’d loved, and when she got to Moony he felt like he was getting to know him all over again through the eyes of a fourteen-year-old Hermione Granger. 

When it was time to say goodnight, it was very hard not to keep kissing her. He allowed himself two‚ or maybe it was three minutes, before he pulled his hands out of her hair and his lips away from hers.

“I think it might be working,” she sighed.

“Yeah?” he asked, not sure if he followed.

“Mmhm. It’s nice getting to know you.”

He knew it didn’t mean anything in particular, but he felt as if she’d just given him the world. “You too, love.”

Wednesday was warm and sunny, and they took sandwiches to go on a walk by the Thames. Sirius was beginning to find a real rhythm to their conversations. She was brilliant at asking questions. Whether it was his house-building project, an RSVP for a certain guest, or which years he’d studied the piano as a kid, he was often struck at how Hermione used her sharp mind to keep track of seemingly everything in her friends’ lives. He was a good storyteller, and the sound of her laugh made his heart sing, but he wanted to keep reminding himself to be a better listener, too. When they discovered a mutual fascination with dragons, he made her retell the Great Gringotts Escape, asking after every detail until he could almost see her holding on for dear life as the dragon broke through the roof and soared over Diagon Alley.

“Listen, I could do this for ages,” he said, frowning at the timepiece he wasn’t accustomed to carrying, “but I’ve actually got some bloody work to do this afternoon, for the fundraiser. Let's pick up where we left off tomorrow?”

“Oh, tomorrow as well? Do I get to see you every day this week?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips. 

It was all he could do to keep from asking her to dinner every night, as well as lunch. “Admit it, Granger, you want to. Besides, per your rules, I can’t take you to bed until I know absolutely everything about you. I figure we can really speed things along if we’re seeing each other daily,” he winked.

“They’re not just my rules,” she laughed, “this is all your idea.”

“So that’s a yes to tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I think I can stand at least a few more days of conversation,” she said, stepping in to trace a finger lightly over his shirt. 

“Mmm, just conversation?” His hands found her waist. 

“Well, I think that’s a pretty good way to get to know someone.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Unless you had another idea?”

“Actually, I did have something else in mind,” he murmured. 

“Oh?”

With her lips so close, it was almost impossible not to kiss her. “Yeah,” he said, and he picked her up and threw her onto his shoulder. Even if her shriek hadn’t turned into a cackle, riling her up had him grinning from ear to ear. 

“Sirius!” she laughed, pounding her small fists on his back as he gripped her legs and spun them in a circle. “Put me down!” 

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he laughed, catching her under the arms as he set her back on her feet. “But you know, it’s not all about talking. There are other, more… physical activities that can teach you a lot about a person,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. 

“So you do want to break the rules, now?” 

“Not just that, get your mind out of the gutter, Granger,” he laughed, smoothing a hand down her sleeve. “I was thinking more along the lines of flying.”

The change in her face was instantaneous. “No flying.” 

“Come on, just once?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We won't even go that high,” he tried.

“Sorry, it’s just—out of the question. You’re not getting me on a broom.”

 _A broom?_ But it gave him an idea. “Please—for me? It doesn’t have to be Quidditch or anything, I just want to go for a ride together.”

“No! Trust me, you don’t want to see it either.”

“So you’d rather do—what, anything else, than get on a broom?”

“Yes.”

“Anything?”

“Yes! Anything.” She looked annoyed now. He almost felt sorry for her.

“Promise?”

“...promise?” She tilted her head at him.

“Great, because I’m taking you for a ride on my bike.”

Her mouth fell open, and he struggled to bite back a grin. “You bastard!”

“Yeah, sorry, but it’s set now, isn’t it?” he shrugged, jogging backwards as she rounded on him. 

“It is not set!” she said, running after him.

He turned to sprint away. “You already promised!” he called over his shoulder. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Don’t you run you little coward!” He had a feeling she would’ve been hexing him senseless by now if they weren’t in public.

“Got to get back to the office, love!” The path ahead was flanked by trees on either side, a perfect place to slip away from any Muggle sightlines and disapparate. He turned to yell again, seeing he’d gained some distance on her. She looked positively enraged. “Let’s discuss further later. We’ve got lots of options for scenic routes to pick from—Ciao!”

 _Pop!_

\------------------

Hermione returned to work still bubbling with annoyance. She got almost nothing done that afternoon, whipping out the Galleon every few minutes to exchange retorts with Sirius. When the allotted twelve characters weren’t enough to contain her rather comprehensive insults, she charmed additional space on the bottom and back of the coin—thankfully, she’d kept the original herself, so the new enchantment would extend to his duplicate as well. 

_Brevity is the soul of wit, darling,_ he’d written back.

She snorted. _You think you can best me at Shakespeare, now?_ she thought. It was nearly four thirty. She almost felt guilty for wasting time during his valuable working hours so close to the gala. Almost. 

_I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands_ , she decided on sending.

_That’s a great idea, actually._

She frowned at the coin. It wasn’t a very good handjob joke if it implied he had some sort of pox, was it? Then she turned it over and saw he’d written more on the back.

_Thursday bike ride, Friday duel?_

_Oh._ Now that would be fun. Give her a chance to hex the daylights out of him after he tried to kill her with that flying machine. 

_Sure, if we’re still alive after Thursday._

_Glad to hear you’re looking forward to it._

She rolled her eyes, putting it back in her pocket. She needed to sign off on the growing pile of reports on her desk before she left, which would probably mean staying late. _Bloody nonsense,_ she thought, unfurling the first of the Centaur Liaison memos. There was so little she actually did in this role. She thought for the dozenth time that month of her application, sitting unopened, no doubt, in the Department of Mysteries. They’d told candidates to expect to hear back by July—which was still at least six weeks away, more if they dragged it on to the end of the month.

She felt the warm glow of the coin on her thigh. _Meeting Red for shopping? She skived off early._

 _Shit,_ she thought. She was supposed to meet Ginny and Angelina in less than a half hour. She signed off on the first report and skimmed hastily through a second. Maybe if she made herself finish a scroll between each time she checked the Galleon, it would motivate her to work faster.

 _Yeah. Sleeveless dress, right?_ Feeling festive, she charmed the dragon on the coin to wink. 

She made it halfway through the next report before her eyes wandered over to read his new message. _Unless they make topless dresses?_


	11. La Soie Blanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I have been literally snoozing an alarm to do final edits on this for days - I can't seem to do anything other than STRESS and hit refresh on election results! Like Nevada, come on, get those counts in! 
> 
> Anyway, onto another place and time, shall we? Oh and I will post the next chapter within a few days so stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Hermione, Angelina and Ginny met up first at the Leakey before hitting the shops. Hermione started to order tea, but Ginny insisted the other two have a cocktail in her honor as she sipped her pumpkin juice. 

“So, how’re you feeling about the trial?” Ginny asked.

Hermione stopped for a moment before she remembered the memo on her desk. _Was it next week already?_ “I’m—yeah, I’m definitely looking forward to it. I mean, the result, anyway.”

“They’re scum,” Angelina said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s worse, the lifelong Death Eaters who keep trying to play at this awful game or the snot-nosed brats among their _new recruits_ ,” she emphasized with a look of disgust on her face. 

“What ever happened with Kieran’s friend?” Ginny asked.

“He was only suspended,” said the older witch, shaking her head. “Not much else they can do, as he’s not acted on anything. Yet.” 

“Who’s Kieran?” Hermione asked.

“My cousin,” Angelina sighed. “One of his mates at Hogwarts was found with loads of Death Eater paraphernalia in his trunk. Signs and badges, that sort of thing. My Aunt Gracie threatened to pull Kieran out of school if he so much as speaks to him again.” 

Hermione blew out a breath. “Well.” 

She noticed the other two exchange a glance, and Ginny piped in, “But they caught him, so that’s good. And all the other students’ trunks were searched after that—he was the only one at Hogwarts.”

“You guys know I’m fine, right?” Hermione said. “Everything about that whole—last month—it was a complete fluke. A complete _joke_ , really. I mean, if they hadn’t nicked our wands, Sirius and I could’ve each taken three of them in a duel,” she waved. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Ginny nodded.

“So. What else is new?” Hermione asked. “Angelina, have you and George set a date yet?”

“Working on it,” she said, swirling her drink with her straw. “Mum was gunning for August, but I think we’ll be too late for that now. I always pictured a midwinter wedding, myself.”

“Plus it’s the offseason,” Ginny pointed out.

“Exactly. And this way I can give Ron and Lavender a chance to break up again before I have to ask her to be a bridesmaid,” she snorted. 

“I’ll remember you said that, when she’s our sister in law someday,” Ginny chided with a smile.

“No, no, it’s not her,” Angelina laughed, “It’s just the two of them. Even George says Ron needs to shit or get off the pot.” 

“I think he does a fine job getting off the pot,” Hermione said. “That particular pot, anyway. On the pot, off the pot, on the pot—.”

“—you’re terrible,” Ginny said, chuckling into her glass. And just when Hermione thought maybe she should apologize, the redhead sent a conspiratorial wink in Angelina’s direction, continuing with a snicker, “Maybe he just misses an old pot. A pot of gold… the likes of which no other pot could possibly compare to.” 

“Just so I have this straight, you’re calling me a toilet, now?” Hermione said, setting down her drink.

“Golden toilet,” Ginny corrected, laughing, “and you called Lavender one first.”

“Oh, the pot calling the pot black!” Angelina clapped. 

“Touché,” she admitted. “Well. I think we all know—Ron’s a great guy, and he understands there are lots of other available pots. And this particular one is just a friend, while his current toilet is—just, bright, and—and bubbly—” At this the three of them burst into giggles.

“Speaking of, I actually need the loo,” Angelina said, still laughing as she turned to go.

After a moment, Hermione asked, “Are you ever going to forgive me for breaking his heart?” Regretting the words even as she spoke them, she tried to soften it with a playful grin.

But Ginny only waved her off. “Oh, enough of that.” That was the trouble with Ginny—she didn’t just tell you what you wanted to hear. Especially if you weren’t coming at it honestly. “It’s ancient history,” she continued. “But it is too bad it can’t be you standing up there with us at George and Ange’s wedding.”

“I was in your wedding, isn’t that enough?” she laughed.

“But that was ages ago,” Ginny complained. “And honestly, weddings are more fun when they’re not your own. I can barely even remember ours, it went by so fast.”

“Well, I’ll still be attending, you’ll have to be happy with that,” Hermione shrugged.

“Right, right,” she waved. Then she perked up. “Are you going to bring your secret lover? Will we have met him by then—or will you have him wear one of those masquerade masks?”

“Let’s see… midwinter?” She made a show of thinking about it, but internally the idea of her and Sirius still sneaking about at Muggle cafes half a year from now didn’t seem sustainable. “I guess time will tell.”

“Well, hopefully you’re not still dragging Krum around at that point, anyway. I still think that idea’s daft, you know.”

“And I still think it makes loads of sense. He’s totally fine with it—both of them are, actually, Viktor knows I’m not looking for anything to happen. And isn’t bringing your wealthy friends around kind of the whole point of having a fundraiser? He should— _Sirius_ should be thanking me. For the help.” Hermione had to swallow to keep her heart from jumping out of her throat. She took a large gulp of her drink, not trusting her face not to reveal anything more to Ginny.

“Well, it shut mum up, anyway,” Ginny said after what felt like an eternity. 

“Exactly,” Hermione said firmly. “So, what do you think, Madame Malkin’s after we’re finished here?”

“We could, or… Lavender said she bought her gown at this really swanky place. It’s French, I guess—want to check it out?”

The three of them arrived at La Soie Blanche not long after. It looked like a cross between a fine jewelry store and what Hermione imagined Narcissa Malfoy’s private sitting room to look like. There were plush couches in varying shades of cream and purple, and nearly every inch of wall was hung with gold-framed paintings and light, satiny draperies. The dresses they allegedly sold seemed to be merely an afterthought—there were no racks of clothing to be seen, instead a handful of slender mannequins stood elegantly poised throughout the store, all wearing incredibly elaborate gowns. 

Ginny strode in ahead of them, and Hermione locked eyes with Angelina in the doorway. ‘Not in our budget’: the message was all but written on the older girl’s face, and she would’ve readily left with her. But Ginny, of course, was already chatting with the shopkeeper. She was a beautiful witch, likely even part-veela. No less than four other gorgeous and impeccably dressed associates appeared a moment later, and they began to flock around the girls wielding measuring tapes. The three of them, looking more like two Quidditch jocks and a bookworm than ever before, were swept up in the flutter of tiny, large-eyed women. They pulled their tapes this way and that, chirping numbers at their Quick Quotes Quills and speaking in rapid French. 

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, stepping out of the grasp of a saleslady, who apparently needed to know her shoe size as well as the distance from her left pupil to her belly button. “What did you tell them? We obviously can’t afford this place.”

“Just wait, I have an idea.” She raised her voice to get the attention of the shopkeeper. “Mademoiselle, un moment s'il vous plaît, cherie?” _When did everyone she knew learn how to speak French?_ she thought, just as Ginny winked at her and said, “Fleur.” She stumbled through her next few sentences, saying some parts in English. Hermione did catch an emphasized _‘my husband’,_ and before she realized what was coming next, a _‘Hermione Granger’._

The veela woman’s eyes grew wide, and Hermione noticed that the other associates had stopped talking. “Oh no—no, no no, I think there’s a misunderstanding,” she said, feeling a surge of annoyance at Ginny. 

“Is there a problem, Miss Granger?” the shopkeeper asked, switching to English as she hurried toward her.

“Not at all!” Ginny said, giving her a quick jab in the side. “Hermione, Mademoiselle Moreau, here, was just telling me how she’d like to help us out before the fundraiser this weekend. You see, we need three dresses, and your beautiful shop—” she waved her arm exaggeratedly at the room, “—well, it needs more customers, doesn’t it?” She lowered her voice again and whispered, “ _free_ , love, and all you have to do is mention ‘who you’re wearing’ to any press on Saturday,” she said, raising her eyebrows. 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but as she glanced at Angelina again, she sighed. She was grinning, eyes wide as she looked at the dazzlingly dressed mannequins. 

_Oh, I suppose, if it’s for a friend,_ she thought with a smirk.

  
“So, I have a theory,” Ginny began as they were leaving the shop half an hour later. “Fleur hasn’t been too keen on booze lately, has she?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And they had a really weird reaction about coming to the gala.”

“So?” Angelina asked.

“Well, I think it might be because she’s been so _tired_ lately, you know?” Ginny smirked. “And she’s been looking even more gorgeous than usual, right? I don’t think that glow was all Harpy.”

Hermione was beginning to understand. “Are you thinking...” 

“Oh, and her boobs—god, I can’t be the only one that noticed?”

A grin pulled at Hermione’s lips just as Angelina asked, “Another baby?”

“She has to be,” Ginny grinned, “I just know it. And—three and a half years after Dominique, it’s almost the same spacing as with her and Victoire. I’d bet money that she’s ten, maybe twelve weeks along.”

“Oh, you really think so?” Angelina smiled. “How exciting! Or—it’s not, like, stealing your thunder or something, is it?” 

“God no!” she laughed, rubbing her belly absently. “Another ickle cousin? They’ll be in the same year at Hogwarts.” 

Hermione breathed a contented sigh. “Oh, that’s so sweet. And Victoire to watch over them all… Now there’s a future prefect if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Dead on. But I’ve got a feeling she’s gonna be a Ravenclaw. Dominique on the other hand, that girl’s definitely going to follow in daddy’s footsteps.”

Hermione considered this for a moment, then asked, “What about yours? Little lion?”

“Bound to be, just judging from the bloody kicking,” she groaned with a smile. 

\------------------

_As Hermione slipped into her new dress for the gala, she admired herself in the mirror. ‘Where are you? It’s time for your speech!’ It was the Galleon in her pocket. She tapped her wand, sending Sirius a quick note before apparating into the middle of the ballroom. But she realized it wasn’t the gala at all—George and Angelina were getting married._

_She watched as the groomsmen and bridesmaids all walked onstage. But when Ron and Lavender came into view, her dress was all wrong—she didn’t match all the others. Hermione soon felt all eyes turning to her, and when she looked down, she realized with embarrassment that she was the one wearing a blue bridesmaid dress. Then it was Ron, extending his arm to her—or, somehow she knew it was Ron, but his face was masked. ‘Go on’, Mrs. Weasley was saying, ‘you’re supposed to be up there.’ Then, Ginny, ‘we’re family now—our kids are gonna be cousins!’_

_As he walked her down the aisle, Hermione could feel that something wasn’t right about Ron, either, and she noticed with dismay that he was marching them straight to the center of the stage. George and Angelina stepped aside as she and Ron took their places just in front of the arch. He took her hand, whispering, ‘it’s time for the veil, love.’ She reached for his mask, now a lacy black curtain that covered his face. But when she pulled the veil over his head, it was Sirius._

_‘No,’ he said, an amused expression on his face, ‘not_ that _veil. I meant—’ and he was turning, rushing into what she’d thought was a wedding arch._

_‘Sirius—SIRIUS!’ she tried to shout, but only a whisper came out._

Hermione awoke in a sweat, panting as the scene of her dream dissolved and folded back into her unconscious mind. She reached for the Galleon on her nightstand, scarcely hesitating as she wrote, ‘ _Are you alright?’_ She made for the bathroom and splashed her face with cool water. Rationally, she knew the veil had been destroyed by the Unspeakables, but she couldn’t shake the image of Sirius jumping into it.

Heading back to her room, she checked the time. It wasn’t even six yet. Outside her window, the first faint light of Thursday morning’s sunrise bloomed in the skyline. The coin glowed, and she hurried over to snatch it up. 

_Fine, love. You’re up early…_

_Weird dream—sorry if I woke you!_

_You dreaming about me, now, Granger?_

She rolled her eyes, imagining the smirk on his face. While she was still working out what to say, he sent another message.

_I was already up, it’s alright._

She frowned at the Galleon, remembering how he’d alluded to having nightmares. She bit her lip, wondering what to say.

_Hard night?_

_Nah, I’ll be fine. Ready for tonight?_

She sighed up at the ceiling. She’d almost forgotten about the motorcycle ride. 

Throughout her morning at work, the dream nibbled at Hermione like a hungry owl, and she found herself ruminating on the details of her long-ago breakup with Ron. They’d barely left Hogwarts when they decided to make things official. She remembered how all the Weasleys seemed to warm to her even more, if that were possible. Harry telling her how great it all was, the nights the four of them had spent laughing and drinking and planning on buying a mansion together when they were all married. It was perfect, right up until it wasn’t.

There was no explosive fight, no sordid affair; just a slow, gentle death of a juvenile romance. And even after the last embers of their love went out with a puff of smoke, she’d put off the breakup for months. By the time she got up the courage, she’d played it all out in her mind hundreds of times, but it still hurt like nothing else she’d experienced. First, no one understood, Ron included. They were best friends, weren’t they? That was, of course, exactly the problem. And it made it all the more terrible to lose him. Even if she felt nothing when they kissed, Ron was simply a part of her heart, and always would be. Breaking his was the worst thing she’d ever had to do. _If we’d just never gotten together in the first place,_ she’d often lamented, after. 

Even after they’d learned to be civil, then friendly, it was never the same between the two of them, or the three of them. She recalled the first few months of healing; that feeling like crawling slowly out of a pit of pain and awkwardness; only to be kicked back in again by the first girl he brought around. She was ashamed of her irrational hatred for Lindsay (and the lessening anger at his next two girlfriends, finally tempered to only a spirited annoyance by the time Lavender came along). Likewise, she felt a kind of apologetic guilt for each of the boyfriends that Mrs. Weasley insisted she bring to dinner—it always felt like a trap, though she eventually grew to accept that the eternal caretaker was just that; steadfast in her mothering, even if a word here or a comment there had just a bit more bite to it than before.

So was it any wonder she made every effort not to repeat the experience with her next romantic encounters? Eddie, Cormac, and Viktor were different. Different house, different personality, different country. Eddie, for example, was married now, and she could be as furious or jealous or shocked as she wanted to because she would never have to ask his wife to pass the sodding potatoes.

_Or—why not throw that whole philosophy away and go for Sirius bloody Black? That was a smart plan, that should end well, shouldn’t it?_ She huffed, wondering where her wits had been a few weeks ago. Where was her logical mind, when her hand was poised on the lid of that irresistible box containing all the mysteries of the last Black? And now its contents were strewn about her mind, right down to the name of the dragon plushie he’d loved as a child. They hadn’t even slept together yet, and still she felt herself speeding ahead, swiftly crashing along an uncharted path with him at her side.

As if she’d summoned him, she felt the Galleon warming on her thigh. 

_I almost forgot how to eat lunch alone. Don’t much care for it._

She glanced at the clock with a smile. She’d forgotten to eat lunch all together. She tapped the coin with her wand.

_Can’t have you lonely. Golden Union again tomorrow? You can treat._

_Creative AND generous? What a catch._

_Or you could always eat alone._

_We’re going. I’m addicted to those fish and chips._

_I told you they’re the best in London._

_Smart witch._

_What time is liftoff tonight?_

_Be ready at seven? I’ll pick you up._


	12. The Sheridan

“Can we just do one more time without leaving the ground first?” Hermione asked, gripping Sirius’ jacket tightly. She’d just gotten used to riding on the speeding death machine on the road. 

“You’ve said that after every time,” Sirius pointed out, placing his hands over hers. “Look, all I’m saying is, two meters off the ground. That’s this high,” he showed her with his hand. “For maybe, thirty seconds. Then back down again. But if that’s too scary…” 

He paused deliberately, obviously baiting her. The sun was nearly setting, and doing this in the dark was completely out of the question. 

“Alright, let’s just do it. And we can skip the baby steps. Maybe five or ten meters up, on the first go. Like… as high as that tree?” She pulled on the strap of her helmet, making sure it was still tight. 

“Yeah? Alright! Do you want to renew your Featherlight Charm again?” he asked, an irritating smirk playing at his lips.

She scoffed. “Just go!” With a quick check around for any Muggles, she cast Disillusionment Charms on herself, Sirius, and the bike.

“You’re going to love it, I promise,” came the voice of the nearly invisible man she grabbed hold of. 

And they were off. He started on the ground for the first ten or fifteen seconds, and then she felt her stomach plunge. They were in the air. She pressed her eyes shut tight, clutching desperately to his middle. She felt them go up, up, higher, until finally her insides seemed to settle back into their proper place again. He must’ve been ambling along at a steady height, now, because with her eyes closed, it felt almost like riding on a flat surface. Only now, there was absolutely nothing beneath them. She tried to remind herself that Sirius did this all the time, and he was fine, wasn’t he? But what if the weight of another passenger threw him off, and—

“Alright?” he yelled over the roar of the motor.

She felt his hand cover hers. “Fine!” she squeaked, concentrating on her breathing.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

When she didn’t answer right away, he laughed, “Do you have your eyes closed again, love?” He soothed his fingers over her arms, still wrapped tightly around his waist. “Just look, that’s half the fun.”

Sirius was, exhaustingly, right. As long as she kept her focus out in the distance, rather than on the disillusioned bit of nothing underneath her, she could imagine they were standing high on a mountain, looking out at the valley below. The countryside was positively brimming with spring, and Hermione marveled at how, from up here, she could take it all in at once. The sun burned low in the western sky, casting a warm glow over the fields. As they ambled along above the world, she felt the bike begin to creep higher. They must’ve been well above twenty meters by now, but it wasn’t so different from ten.

“Oh, look at that! Up ahead, on the left,” she said. “Tulips?”

“Thought you might like that.” He steered them in the direction of the yellow field. “No sunflowers blooming yet, though.” 

_ Sunflowers…?  _ Then she remembered mentioning them. Once, offhandedly, when they were barely free from Lestrange’s clutches.  _ This bloody man,  _ she thought with a sigh. She recalled that first evening they’d spent together—the first time voluntarily seeing each other, anyway.  _ Was it really only three weeks ago? _ __

Just then, she felt a lurch, and found herself looking down at the ground. Even through the blurred edges of the Disillusionment Charm on the motorcycle’s seat, she could see they were racing high—far too high, above the now postage stamp-sized fields below. 

“Sirius!” she yelled, blinking rapidly down at the ground, “this is way too bloody high!”

“Right, sorry,” he called, and angled the bike sharply downward. 

She couldn’t tell if he’d started accelerating, too, or it was only the change in direction that jarred her. Unable to keep from playing out their impending deaths in her mind, she squeezed herself around his solid body with her arms, her legs, and all of her will. 

“Better?” he’d asked, and she opened her eyes long enough to confirm they were around three or four stories high again. 

“Yep!” she squeaked, training her muscles to relax. “I think, let’s take a break, now.”

“Alright.” She felt the rumble of his laugh as they continued to descend. And then, finally, the ground. 

“Well, how about that? The girl can fly,” he said, turning the engine off. He took off his helmet and she did the same, brushing her curls back into place. “How was it?”

She swung her leg over, glad to feel solid earth under her shoes. “Ugh,” she sighed, flopping down to lay on the grass. “That was so hard,” she laughed. “And you are such an arse for taking me that high!”

“You seemed to be enjoying it,” he shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. 

“I actually did start to kind of like it,  _ before _ the flying bit.”

“Yeah?” he asked, stretching out to sit beside her. “And the flying bit…?”

“Terrifying, obviously,” she smiled, patting the ground behind him. He laid back to join her.

“Invigorating?” he asked.

“Maybe. Or just insane?” 

“So… incredible, would you say?”

“It was not as bad as a broom, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, will you?” he grinned, rolling to his side to face her. “That’s generous.”

“Well, a broom you have to fly yourself,” she reasoned. “The bike at least comes with a pilot, so that’s nice.”

“So you don’t want to drive next time?” he teased.

“Not when you’re so good at it,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. The adrenaline was making her heart beat even faster than it usually did with him, and they quickly deepened the kiss. She swept her tongue into his, feeling she could almost taste the life in him as his pulse beat in tandem with hers. It quickly became apparent that side-by-side didn’t provide enough contact, and he rolled on top of her, one of his legs easily finding its place between hers. He kissed her hungrily, stealing moans from the back of her throat as her hands worked their way under his shirt. It didn’t help matters that she’d just spent the better part of an hour clinging to him while straddling a vibrating machine. 

“Aren’t we breaking the rules?” she asked, even as she rolled her hips. 

“Hmm,” he sighed, pulling slightly away. “Fuck. Yes. Bad girl,” he grinned, planting a row of kisses on her neck. 

Her sigh turned into a groan as she made herself push him away. “Alright, breather?”

“Yeah.” He pressed a last kiss onto her temple before rolling onto his back. 

They laid like that for a few breaths, looking up at the darkening sky. Then he was on his side again, his hand coming to rest on her belly. “But we’ve had a pretty good week, haven’t we? Feels like we’re making some progress.” 

“That’s true,” she admitted, rolling onto her side to mirror him. “I mean, now that I’ve learned, for example, that you have a crush on Professor Vector, I feel much more inclined to sleep with you.”

“Had a crush—had! Septima was a gorgeous creature in her day, anyone would agree.”

“Alright. Not the worst crime, anyway, I just thought it was cute to imagine you wanting someone you couldn’t actually have.” She felt his hand drift down to her hip and he gave it a slight squeeze. 

“Well, she made it really easy to like Arithmancy, at least. You should probably be owling her your thanks, since that and Numerology all you ever want to talk about.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re completely incorrigible?” 

“Everyone I’ve ever slept with,” he said, grinning.

“Well then, that must be a sign,” she whispered, letting her eyebrows bounce a little as she said it. And just as he started to lean in, she pulled away and moved to stand. “So, we’ll have to make a date. I should really be using tomorrow night and Saturday to get my speech ready, so… maybe after that?” she asked innocently, offering him her hand. 

“You, my dear, are a terrible tease,” he said, tugging her arm as he pulled himself up. “And what about our duel, you’re cancelling that now, too?”

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, sending him an apologetic look. “I think we might have to postpone that… what if you’re still vomiting slugs on Saturday, or you can’t get your ears untied? I’m quite accurate with hexes, and that wouldn't be a good look for the president of B.A.M.B.Y.”

“So,” he grinned, pulling on the lapels of her jacket to straighten it. “First you call off our plans to study for some—“ he waved a hand, “event—, and now you’re trying to threaten me?” He clucked his tongue playfully, letting his hand trail up to rest on the side of her neck. His thumb brushed against her jaw, sending a shiver through her body as he continued. “After the gala’s over, I’m going to have to remind you what a wicked little girl you are, hmm?” Her eyes closed on her next breath, and he continued, “We’re going to have to think of a fitting punishment, aren’t we?” Suddenly she felt dizzy. 

“Not right now, though, love,” he said, voice gentle and low as he pulled her in for a hug instead. “Alright?” He gripped her close with one arm while the other hand soothed up and down her back. 

“Yeah,” she breathed into his neck, feeling heady.

He kissed her softly on the jaw, then pulled back to look at her. “That okay?” 

“Mmhm,” she sighed, blinking at him.

“Can you tell me? If it’s okay?”

She wasn’t sure if it was just about affirming her comfort level or if this had an element of the game mixed in, too. She smiled, feeling her face redden as he studied her. “It’s okay,” she started, eyes flickering to the grass between them. “You know I love when you talk to me like that, Sirius,” she finished quietly, her cheeks burning as she met his sparkling eyes. 

“Good,” he sent her a warm smile. “Fuck, you’re fun.”

\------------------

On Saturday morning, Sirius arrived at the Sheridan House when the staff were just beginning to set up. The Sheridan was at the top of their budget for this event, but well worth the price. If growing up wealthy had taught him anything, it was that you had to spend money to make money. Along with everyone the staff of B.A.M.B.Y. knew personally, they’d invited some very well-off prospective donors throughout Europe, and many wouldn’t leave the house for less than the best.

He’d toured the place with Mary in early March, and she especially was enamored by the Victorian mansion. Enchanted lights floated in the high ceilings, and every marble floor and handcrafted wood table was polished to a brilliant luster. Adjacent to the main ballroom, there were various side-rooms for conversation, where gilded and bewitched tables refilled any glasses set on them from reserves in the kitchens—no elf labor required. Even the sinks in the loos were charmed to provide soap infused with the user’s favorite scent. What Sirius liked the most about the property was that it had originally belonged to the Wilkes family, who had fought for Voldemort in the first war. After the last of them were thrown into Azkaban, their ancestral home was auctioned off to the highest bidder. It was as close to dancing on the graves of Death Eaters as they could get. 

By late afternoon, the place was bustling as the workers set out tables and prepared food and drink. Sirius worked on his welcome speech as the staff began to set up the stage around him for the musicians and speakers. 

When it was nearing six, he apparated home to get ready. He’d asked Madame Malkin to make his robes in a more modern design. The new styles suited his frame better anyway, and he appreciated that they were trending more toward sleek Muggle suits than the ruffled, gaudy frocks he remembered his father wearing. 

As he stood in front of the mirror, he tried to imagine Hermione in her dress. Yesterday at lunch she’d shown up in her usual work attire, but her curls were all swept gracefully to one side. A trial run, she’d called it. Though he’d nudged her about it a few times, she told him the dress would be a surprise. He straightened his collar, feeling half-ridiculous in the formalwear, and pulled his hair into an untidy knot to try to balance it all out. 

He met with Mary, Finchy, and Ginny an hour before the guests were to arrive. The Sheridan’s backstage area was equipped with enough dressing rooms for an entire orchestra, and as that evening’s musical entertainment was only an eight-piece string band, he didn’t mind taking one of the larger rooms for himself. He and Harry had picked up a bottle of top-shelf champagne the night before, and now he invited his small staff in for a toast. Flinchy and Mary seemed to be the type that were a little awkward in formalwear, but Ginny was positively glowing in a gold, shimmery gown that seemed to be finely made. His mind wandered again to Hermione as he got their attention.

“I just wanted to say… a few months ago, none of this existed. But because of the three of you—”

“Yeah, me especially,” Ginny grinned. 

“Well, yeah, less so you,” he laughed. “Anyway, the tickets alone from tonight are going to fund full scholarships—that’s books, owls, robes, even a small Hogsmeade stipend—for not just the first years, but all of the Muggle-born kids at Hogwarts this year. And after factoring in pledges from the event, we are, first,” he raised a finger, “self sustaining for at least the next five years—” Mary gave a little cheer at that, “— _ and  _ fully funded on Finchey’s pilot program for the Ministry apprenticeships.”

“Alright!” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m right chuffed about that one as well,” Sirius continued. “Few more gems, here: the party’s not even started yet and we already have twenty-one new monthly supporters. I expect that number will be up by the night’s end—Red, you did tell Jordan to keep plugging that tonight, didn’t you?”

“Definitely, he knows,” Ginny nodded. She and Finchy had convinced him to hire George’s friend as master of ceremonies, and as soon as he’d met him, Sirius understood why. 

“Great. Anyway, I’ve got all the formal, official stuff I’ll say on stage later, but for you guys, just—fuck! It’s incredible we’ve gotten so far, and I would’ve been shit at all this without you. So enjoy yourselves tonight, alright? To you!”

When it was six fifteen, Sirius excused himself to pick up his date. He’d hardly raised his fist to knock when the door swung open. “Andromeda!” 

“Cousin,” she sang, stepping outside to kiss him on both cheeks.

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” he said, meaning it. She’d always loved the parties, the dressing up and the dancing. It was one thing he could admit purebloods did well, and she probably hadn’t had many excuses to attend a real formal affair since she’d been excommunicated from the family.

“Oh, stop,” she smiled. “You, though, are a picture,” she said with a sigh. “You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Come on, I’m at least thirty six, depending how you’re counting. And you’re as young as ever. The best of the Blacks, aren’t we?”

“Tell that to Cissy,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “Is she coming tonight?”

“Padfoooot!” came Teddy’s voice as he raced out to hug him around the waist. “Hi—Uncle Sirius—do Padfoot! Do Padfoot!” he chanted, transforming his nose into the snout of a dog. 

“Nice job, kid! Now all you need is a tail.” He obliged the seven-year-old, taking his Animagus form for a quick chase around the outside of the cottage. 

“Alright boys,” Andromeda laughed, “I think that’s enough. Don’t want to miss your own party, do you, Sirius?”

“Is it time to go to Grandpa Lyall’s now?” Teddy asked breathlessly.

Sirius transformed back to ask, “No party for you, huh?” He ruffled the boy’s blue hair. “You don’t want to wear a tie and drink firewhiskey all night with the grown ups?”

“No,” he shrugged, skipping inside to the fireplace. “Nana says Victoire’s not going anyway. Bye, Sirius.” 

They exchanged a glance, and Andromeda winked, “be right back.” She returned from the floo a moment later, and they were off to the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should be less than a full week before the next chapter as well - maybe Thursday or Friday :)


	13. The Gala

By a quarter to seven, the Sheridan was bubbling with music and conversation. Sirius was amazed to look around and see how many people he really knew. Though so many of his loved ones were gone, the front hall was filled with friends and acquaintances old and new, some he hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. Almost every surviving member of the Order was there, and there were lots of new faces in the crowd too. Sirius tried not to look too conspicuous as he scanned for the one he was most excited to see. 

As the hour drew nearer, people began to crowd the large entrance archway that led to the ballroom. When it was seven, Sirius caught Jordan’s eye and nodded for the presenting to begin. It was an old-fashioned tradition, he knew, but rich people lived for nonsense of exactly this kind. Finchy, who was unfamiliar with the custom, had the brilliant idea that they could announce the guests according to how much they’d pledged to B.A.M.B.Y., rather than by status and titles. Those who’d donated modest sums would be presented and welcomed into the ballroom first, and as the room filled with a bigger and bigger audience, the most generous sponsors would get the coveted later spots on the list and the biggest audience. Never mind the fact that the archway between the entrance hall and the ballroom was big enough for everyone to see into both rooms—the applause would translate just as well from ten meters away—, it was all about decorum when it came to rich snobs. Best of all, since the pledge amounts weren’t made public, those who wanted the highest status badly enough had no choice but to donate ridiculous sums to be sure they beat the rest. The Malfoys alone had contributed enough to cover the entire cost of throwing the fundraiser.

Sirius watched as Jordan cast the Amplifying Charm on his voice and began. “Witches and Wizards, Lords and Ladies—let’s hear it for all the best looking Muggle-born supporters of the United Kingdom! And of course we have some _very_ special international guests here with us tonight as well. It’s time to meet the attendees of the first annual gala for the Black Association for Muggle-born Youths! Give it up for your host, Sirius Black III, President of B.A.M.B.Y., and Andromeda Tonks!”

She took his arm and they strolled into the ballroom just as the musicians started in. The Cattermoles were next, then Finchy and his date, and Ginny and Harry. Sirius clapped until his hands were numb as Jordan continued down the list of names. He watched as the crowd in the entrance hall dwindled, almost out of view, now, behind the growing number of guests filling the ballroom. 

He was just beginning to wonder when Jordan called, “Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class; and Viktor Krum, former Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!” The crowd began to part, roaring with applause as they came into view. 

_Circe._ He drank her in, eyes thirstily roaming from her hips and waist, where her dress was smoothly fitted, to where it flared out again at the middle of her thigh, the seemingly weightless fabric gliding a centimeter off the floor. The material seemed to shimmer at her chest, where it dipped just low enough to leave him wanting more. The dress was almost the exact shade her neck turned when he made her flush. As promised, her arms were bare, with only a suggestion of a sleeve hanging off each shoulder. His eyes traveled briefly to the scarred flesh of her inner arm, and he fought the desire to sweep her up and wrap it around his. She’d done her hair like yesterday; thick, shiny chestnut waves that hung loose down her back and over one shoulder. On the other side, a gold comb lifted the hair off her face, showcasing her jaw and her long neck. Her skin seemed almost to glow in the soft light. 

As Jordan announced the next guests, Hermione and Krum dropped arms and turned to stand in the crowd. He watched her eyes travel among the faces until they stopped on his. She quickly looked away, but a moment later her gaze had found its way back to him. She smiled. He grinned. Her lips parted in what he recognized as that breathy laugh of hers. Even with the whole ballroom and half of Wizarding Britain separating them, his eyes told her how fucking beautiful she was. He wanted to find a reason to go to her, pull her into his arms—friends hugged each other, didn’t they? But soon Jordan had taken the stage and was introducing him.

Sirius strode onstage and cast a silent _Sonorus_. As he cleared his head of the witch in blushing pink, he smiled out at the crowd, still not sure which order his talking points should go in. Then he found a familiar pair of emerald eyes.

“Evening. I can’t thank you all enough for coming. As you probably know, the Black family name is not one… historically associated with Muggles. I come from a long line of psychopaths and blood purists. Surely, you’re thinking, there are better candidates for running a Muggle-born charity?” He paused, continuing when the laughter had died down. “The truth is that, the way I was raised, I was headed down pretty much the same path as my parents—until Hogwarts completely opened up my worldview. 

“The first Muggle-born person I met would grow up to be one of the strongest human beings I’ve ever known. Her spellwork regularly put our pureblood classmates to shame. Even when we were first years, she was a fiercely loyal friend. And in a way, that—that relentless love is the reason we’re all here tonight. Her name, of course, was Lily Evans.”

As he spoke, the green-eyed witch in his memory swirled and morphed until she blinked at him instead from soft brown eyes. _They really are so alike_ , he thought, as he found her face in the crowd.

He continued, touching on a few personal experiences from the war, and finished with a brief retelling of how the charity began. Then he was giving the stage back. Jordan did a fantastic job drumming up excitement in the crowd, and Fletchy’s giant magicked ‘Fund-O-Meter’ on stage right climbed to the halfway mark. 

“People of the Sheridan House—there’s still a ways to go, but we will be—here—all—night! Your keynote speaker, the lovely Hermione Granger will be gracing the stage at nine o’clock, so until then, let’s dance, drink, and DONATE!”

And the merriment began. Sirius was pulled into conversations left and right as guests made their greetings and congratulated him. Whenever he turned, there was a waiter at his elbow, offering more whiskey and appetizers. 

“Great party Sirius!” said Ron, clapping him on the back as he grabbed a deviled egg off a passing tray. 

He spun Andromeda around the ballroom for a few songs, then when she went to mingle with other dance partners he did the same. Mary’s husband, who looked exhausted already, seemed glad to hand her off for “The Blue Danube Waltz”, and he twirled the captain of the Holyhead Harpies to the tune of a jaunty Hungarian Dance that might’ve been Brahms. Then Hestia Jones caught his eye, and they danced two songs together while Sirius watched Hermione over her shoulder. She’d spent more than a few songs in Krum’s arms, but he was rather pleased to see her presently in Harry’s. When he saw they were taking a break, he followed suit, ambling over to talk to Harry first.

“Happy with the turnout?” his godson asked, nodding his thanks at a waiter for the new glass he’d taken.

“Absolutely,” Sirius grinned. “We’re already swimming in Galleons, so even if the donations stopped here we’ll be golden.”

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you,” he said, gripping his arm. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so well, honestly.”

Sirius struggled not to look over at Hermione, then, who was lingering on the other side of Harry. “Thanks. Means a lot. It’s a great fucking year for all of us, isn’t it?” He nodded his head at Ginny, who was approaching. 

The boy only shook his head at the ground, an enormous grin threatening to split his face open. 

“There you are, love!” she called, “Let’s dance, while I’ve still got the energy.”

And they were alone together. “It’s shaping up to be quite the night, isn’t it?” Hermione said, smiling at him.

“Yeah. You ready for your speech?”

“I think so. Yours was lovely, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then, “we should dance.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at him. “Just… right here in the open?”

“Where else?” he laughed. “It’ll be alright.”

“What if…”

“It’s just a dance, Hermione. I danced with Andromeda, too, didn’t I? And you were just out there with Harry…”

“What if you dance differently with me than you do with your cousin?” she smirked. 

“I promise I won’t grab your arse,” he said wryly. “Just one song?”

“I don’t know. Not this one, anyway, it’s a bit too…” she struggled to finish. It gave him an idea. 

“Stay here,” he winked, and made for the stage.

“Do you know anything from _The Nutcracker_?” he was asking the cellist a moment later. 

When he returned to Hermione, she was looking at him suspiciously. “What was all that about?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he grinned, popping a miniature macaron in his mouth. 

After the song ended, the first few bars of “Waltz of the Flowers” began to play. She let out an audible ‘oh!’, and turned those soft, brown eyes on him.

He extended his hand, and she was his. 

She was warm and light in his arms, her small hand enveloped in his. His other hand slid around her waist to her back, where the dress was cut in a low V. As he let his thumb brush against her soft skin, he kept his eyes on hers, waiting for the sign that it was too much, too public. 

She might not have taken as many dance lessons as Andromeda, but she was light on her feet, and had a lively way of bouncing her body in time with his steps. He found himself torn between pulling her closer and staying far enough apart that he could watch her face as he led them around the room. It was so close to being perfect. The party, the music, the girl. Except he didn’t have her, not really.

“You look incredible,” he murmured a few inches from her ear. 

“Thanks,” she said, smiling confidently. “You’re not too bad yourself, Black. I like that you kept the scruff. I don’t know if I’ve seen you in anything but jeans before this.”

“Still interested in taking it all off after this is over?” he asked quietly, holding her eyes.

Her lips only parted in response, and he watched her chest move as she took in a breath. The music swelled and he twirled her gently in a circle, giving her time. Then her bright eyes were on him again. She smiled almost sinfully, her skin matching her dress. 

As the night went on, they continued to dance, even when she wasn’t in his arms. It was as though an invisible cord connected them, pulling taught when George spun her away from him, then slackening again when they found themselves mingling in the same circle. The firewhiskeys went down more and more smoothly until he lost count, but the alcohol was no match for his soaring spirits. 

When it was almost time for her speech, he slipped backstage so he could wish her luck before she went on. She startled slightly when she saw him. Then, as she realized they were alone, a slow smile spread across her face. “For luck?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Mmm,” he sighed, bending to kiss her. “Good luck,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Break a leg.” Another one on her jaw. “Break your other leg, too.” His lips grazed her neck. He ran his hands over the exposed skin of her back, letting his fingers just dip under the fabric, “I hope you break all your damn bones, love, knock ‘em dead.”

She laughed breathlessly, pulling herself out of his grasp to gather herself. 

“...war heroine who, with her extraordinary bravery and intelligence, helped Harry Potter defeat the Dark Lord—give it up for Her—mioneeeee Granger!”

“Good on you for getting a Quidditch announcer to host your party, Sirius,” she laughed just before she walked on.

He watched from backstage, standing back behind Jordan as she addressed the crowd. She’d worked on the speech with him so much he had parts of it memorized, and found himself mouthing some of the words along with her. 

The crowd laughed as she recalled shopping for her first robes with McGonagall, shrieking in surprise at seeing her first wizarding photograph, and explaining to her Muggle parents that ‘Abracadabra’ was a section in the _Prophet_ , not a spell. She worked them beautifully, easing into the more difficult and confusing aspects of being Muggle-born after she’d loosened them up with laughs. When she got to the ‘mudblood’ bullet point, a hush fell over the audience. Sirius tried to imagine Draco Malfoy’s face as he squirmed in the audience. 

“And this,” she said calmly, extending her arm as though she was presenting an interesting artifact, “is just another example of the ways in which blood supremacists have sought to categorically label and intimidate Muggle-borns. Personally I count myself lucky to have only been marked. As we all know, many Muggle-born and Half-blood witches and wizards have been killed in the ongoing conflict over blood purity.

“And yes,” she nodded, her face resolute, “I do use the word ‘ongoing’. Because these so-called Neo-Death Eaters, as feeble and disorganized as I _know_ them to be—they represent the same dangerous idea that Voldemort and his supporters helped spread throughout this country like fiendfyre only seven years ago. And no matter how the legislature changes, no matter how many of them we lock up, if we don’t change our _culture_ , we’ll never be completely rid of that idea. I believe that organizations like B.A.M.B.Y. are an instrumental part of that change.”

Sirius watched as she commanded the room. Her carefully prepared words landed like the well-timed steps of an intricate dance, and he was filled with an intangible ache. It was almost like pride, though he could hardly claim responsibility for any part of the compelling young woman she’d turned into. It shouldn’t surprise him that she was so good at this; she was brilliant, and Merlin knew she’d braved much worse than big crowds. But there was something in the way she spoke about B.A.M.B.Y. that seemed to be more than just a war heroine endorsing a charity. Or maybe he was just a fucking sap.

\------------------

Hermione let the applause wash over her as she exited the stage. She circled the backstage area, feeling light as she looked for Sirius. Finding him nowhere, she began to frown. She realized she’d been hoping he would listen. She decided to check in his dressing room, and imagined finding him there, alone. She stepped into her own changing room first to freshen up. 

It was dark inside. But the lamps had been charmed to light when she entered the room before. _Perhaps the enchantment needs to be renewed?_ She started to reach for the holster on her calf when she felt movement behind her. 

A hand stilled her wrist, and another one clapped over her mouth. A jolt of fear shot through her, images of Neo-Death Eaters flashing in her mind. A crackle of magic rippled across her skin. “Get your hands—” 

“—it’s me,” he breathed over her shoulder, “It’s okay.”

“Sirius?” her voice sounded small. “What’re you…”

He cast a _Lumos._ “Sorry, love, I forgot how much you like surprises,” he murmured against her neck. A laugh reverberated in his chest, and it spread a wave of warmth into her. She caught sight of them in the mirror, faces shadowed in the dim light of his wand. His body was pressed against hers, lips close to her ear.

“God, I thought—” but she stopped herself, not wanting to admit how quickly her mind had steered toward panic.

“What?” he asked, circling around to face her. “Talk to me.”

And she found that she actually wanted to. “Oh, it’s stupid—obviously there’s no way, with the security here, but for a second there I was kind of remembering—” she shook her head at the floor. “Never mind. Probably it was because I just got done talking about Death Eaters and all that…”

“Oh, fuck.” He drew her close, arms wrapping around her swaying body. “Have I ever told you how stupid I am?” She felt him chuckle against her as he continued, “I’m sorry, love. I was just, um—fuck.” He pulled away again to re-light the lamps and began to press gentle kisses to her forehead and cheeks. The tenderness of it all nearly broke her. 

Her hand came up to wipe her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to laugh it off.

“Mmm, it’s alright,” he smiled, bending to press his forehead against hers. “You cry all the time, remember?”

“Shut it,” she laughed, eyes flickering up to his.

“Your speech was fucking perfect,” he said. “I don’t know what the hell we were thinking having McGonagall here in the first place. Should’ve known you’d just—” he shook his head, grinning at the floor. Then his eyes were on her again. “I’m just glad I got to watch it.”

There were times where looking him in the eyes felt like staring into the sun, but now he was soft, gray moonlight, and she might as well have been a moth as she drank him in. 

“Sorry again, about scaring the shit out of you. You know, I only came in here because—” he began.

“—I know,” she smiled. “I think I had the same idea.”

As he kissed her, she felt herself melt into him. Her lips, first, molded easily under his mouth as he claimed her, then her fingers warmed and softened on his skin, until finally her insides seemed to turn to liquid. 

“Wanted you,” he said against her mouth. 

“Mmm, me too.” 

She broke off to kiss his neck, and he continued, “wanted you since you walked in the fucking room tonight, love.”

“Yeah?” Her hands had already found their way under his shirt. She took two steps back and he followed, pressing her against the counter.

“Yes, fuck—since that first, good kiss at the park. Since the cell, and the mattress.” She flicked her wand to lock the door. Sirius kissed across her collarbone, sucking at the tender flesh, and only briefly did a worry about love bites float into her head and back out again. “Wanted you since I saw you at Christmas and didn’t know who the fuck you were,” he breathed, fingers digging into her backside.

“Wait, really?” she pulled away. 

“Well, you were a right stunner in that dress, weren’t you?” 

“But not like, you didn’t want—this—like, _ever_ since that day, did you?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “And other times,” he tilted his head, “wanted more to throttle you, but I think it was about the same for you, wasn’t it?”

“Well. Not that I thought about it all the time, or anything, but—” She considered for a moment, then quickly nodded, “yeah, more or less. I’m just surprised you even… remembered that day. At Christmas.” She studied him, unable to banish the grin from her face.

“Couldn’t forget it, really,” he laughed, diving into her curls to kiss her neck again. “A lot of things were fucking weird to get used to, but that—you—” his lips found her ear, and she let out a long sigh as his teeth grazed her earlobe, “—that was very high on the list.” 

“Well, fuck me,” she breathed, brimming with a strange sort of pride.

“God, I want to,” he said, and he was going down on his knees. 

_Oh, yes._

He smoothed his hand up her leg, the silky fabric of her dress gathering around his arm. She felt his lips on her ankle, her calf, the inside of her knee. All the while, his fingers danced higher on her legs, tracing paths that tickled her skin. 

“Mmhh,” she sighed, when she felt him kiss the supple flesh of her inner thighs. 

He pushed her dress up past her hips, granting himself a full view of her lacy knickers. “Sexy,” he murmured, pressing a trail of kisses along the hem at each thigh. “For me?” He looked up at her, dark brows looking almost feral over his piercing eyes. “Or Krum?”

A laugh bubbled out from her lips. “You, of course.” She let her fingers trace along his head and wrap around the knot at the base of his neck, giving it a little tug. “Just you.”

“Mmm, god, witch.”

“You like that?” she asked, her voice low.

He answered by ripping the tie out of his hair and roughly placing her hands back on his head. “More,” he instructed, commanding even as he knelt before her. 

She laced her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and pulled, gently at first, then steadily increasing the tug until he moaned into her thigh. 

He kissed over her knickers next, moving in slowly toward her center until she could feel his hot breath over her clit. “What do you say?” he asked.

“Please,” she breathed, tightening her hold on his hair.

“Mmf.” She watched his eyes roll back slightly before he put his mouth on her. First he traced his tongue on the black silk over her sensitive nub, then gently dragged his bottom teeth up over her, starting from the wet patch of fabric between her legs. As he grazed over her clit, she felt another trickle of wetness from her core. She shivered, anticipating his mouth on her bare skin.

“Will you let me taste you?” he breathed.

“Yes.”

“What do you—”

“—please!”

He gave her a last slow, torturous smile before he ripped the knickers halfway down her legs in one smooth motion. Her gasp turned to a moan as she felt his lips on her slit. He kissed her there, first in slow, sweet pecks that trailed from her outer lips to her clit. As her breathing quickened, he became more impassioned, giving deliberate, open-mouthed kisses that nudged her lips apart, opening her to him. 

When she felt his tongue slide between her folds she let out a soft ‘ahh’. She parted her legs slightly, trying to give him better access. Her knickers strained tight around her knees as he laved long slow licks over her now dripping opening. Her brain lit up with the intense pleasure of it, a hum of magic rippling across her body as he licked into her cunt. She reached down to push the black lace off, but he gripped her wrist. 

“Did I say you could touch those?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Fuck,” she breathed. Not trusting herself to remain standing, she leaned back against the counter. She grabbed the edge of the cool marble top with both hands, as much to steady herself as to ensure she would follow his instructions.

“Good girl.” She tightened her grip on the counter, eyelids fluttering as he continued, “Wore them for me, didn’t you?” He slid his fingers under the lace and dragged them down to her feet.

“Mhm,” she sighed as he wrapped a warm hand around her calf, guiding her to step out of them. 

“That means they’re mine.” A noise of protest escaped her open mouth, but he only winked. She watched in fascination as he stuffed them into the pocket of his robes. 

Her dress was starting to slide down again, and as he pushed it back up to her waist he instructed her to hold it there.

“Just like that,” he nodded, running his hands up and down her legs. His eyes traveled from hers to her nakedness and back up again, and she felt her breaths coming more quickly as he seemed to be studying her. 

“You look…” He shook his head, taking her in. “Just perfect. So fucking sexy.” 

Her cheeks were hot as she watched him watch her, aching with anticipation. “Thanks, Sirius.” 

His eyes roved over her face, a slow grin starting on his lips. “Spread your legs for me, love.” 

Her mouth fell open as a surge of warmth traveled down to her core. She obliged him, taking a step out with her right leg. She leaned back on the counter again for support, trying to hold up her dress like she’d been told to at the same time.

“I think you can do better than that,” he purred, eyes glittering. “I want to see you.”

An involuntary moan sounded from her lips as she took another step out on her left leg. 

“That’s it,” he nodded, sitting back on his heels to take her in. Standing bare and spread before him, made to hold up her own dress while he just… looked at her, Hermione felt like an object he was judging. She squirmed in the heat of his gaze even as she felt blood rushing to her sex. 

“Look at yourself, beautiful,” he said with gentle authority, nodding toward the mirror to her right.

It was only a small comfort that from this angle, the gathered up fabric of her dress blocked her view of her own nakedness. But she knew the picture of him kneeling in front of her while she spread her legs would be seared into her memory for good.

“Look at your skin,” he mused, as they locked eyes in the mirror. “So flushed and pretty. Matches your dress.” He took a fistful of the bunched fabric and pulled. “I felt like I fucking invented this color the first time you blushed for me.”

She swallowed, watching his hand move to his groin. He adjusted his package, then stroked himself idly through his trousers while he captured her eyes again. Her breaths were coming shallowly, the blush spreading further down her neck. She longed for him to touch her, to say something—anything but this unbearable watching. 

Finally, he reached a hand out, tracing a meandering path up her thigh. “So soft,” he remarked, as if to himself. His fingertip traveled closer to her center, until he was on her mound. “Look at me,” he whispered, and she wrenched her eyes from his hand. His gaze was mercurial, shifting between a cocksure sort of amusement and something dark and predatory. He traced his finger down, brushing over her clit, watching her breathing quicken. 

She felt a second finger on her and his touch dragged lower on her outer lips, poised at her opening. As she realized what was happening next, she struggled to keep her eyes in focus. He pushed her lips apart, spreading her pussy open. They drew in a breath together, his eyes alighting with a feral hunger as she felt a rush of excited discomfort. He looked at her, admiring her exposed sex while she looked on helpessly, feeling as if the room was beginning to spin.

“Sirius…” she whispered through frantic breaths, “um, yellow. Red—reddish.”

“Hey, hey,” he stood quickly, his hand remaining in contact with her body as he traced a smooth line up over her waist and ribs to rest on the middle of her back. He cradled her head in his other hand, and she let the dress tumble down between them. “You’re alright, love.” 

“Mmm,” she sighed, trying to give him some sort of sign that she was still with him. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “I just have way too much fun with you, don’t I?”

“Terrible amounts of fun,” she whispered, smiling as she exhaled a slow breath. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful, though. Just perfect.” He tucked her head under his chin, stroking her hair as he held her. 

“That was, just yellow, I think,” she said, pulling away. “And, like, a bloody ten… in terms of—ugh, you’re just so fucking good at that.”

“Thanks,” he grinned,” tracing his fingers through her hair. “Nice to see you read the book.”

“Oh, _that_ book?” she smirked. “I thought it was fine. A bit dated, though—I really preferred the more science-based approach in, for example, some of Easton and Hardy’s work.”

“Well, well, look who took her little research assignment and ran with it. I can’t say I’m surprised,” he chuckled. 

“You started it,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “And anyway, what’s the point of research if you don’t put it to use? I said yellow, didn’t I—so let’s not stop yet.”

“Yeah?” He appeared to assess her for a moment, his gaze shifting back and forth between her eyes. Then, seemingly satisfied, he bent to kiss her. She relished the warmth of his lips, growing more confident as she kissed him back. 

He started to trace his fingers over her collarbones, teasing his way down, but she felt impatient. He’d already taken her nearly to the edge just from looking at her. She pulled up her dress, guiding his hand between her thighs again. 

He groaned, sliding a finger through her wet folds. “God, I love how you touch me,” she sighed, starting to unbutton his shirt. He dragged a second finger through her slit once, twice, and then he pushed inside. 

_Fuck._ She let out a whine at his touch. She’d wanted so badly to feel him move in her, just like this. Even the desperate voice in her mind that wouldn’t shut up about feeling his cock was quiet for a moment, just having him—any part of him, finally inside again. 

“Good?” he didn’t have to ask.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered urgently, smoothing her hands over his bare chest. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, bringing his lips to her neck. He began to circle her clit with his thumb while he pumped inside her.

“Just like that,” she moaned. Just like she’d remembered, imagined countless times since their first night together. Already she felt the tightness building deep inside her. 

His lips moved to her ear, teeth and tongue dragging over her sensitive skin. “Please,” he whispered, and the insistence made something twinge in her chest. She was already so close. He pumped harder, still circling her nub. She’d stopped stroking his chest, her hands clung to his open shirt as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Please,” he asked again, “please?” Like he was begging for her pleasure. 

The tightness drew in closer, smaller as her muscles tensed. “God, love, please come for me.” Like there was nothing that mattered more to him. He caught her earlobe between his teeth again and she cried out, exploding inside. “Yes, _fuck_ ,” he said, thrusting hard.

“Ahh, Sirius,” she moaned, grabbing for him, reaching her hands up to his shoulders, around his back. He continued to pump his fingers into her, letting her ride out the orgasm on his hand. “God,” she groaned, “can we fuck now?”

A low ‘hmm’ almost like a growl rumbled in his chest as he gave another two hard thrusts. 

“Please?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to feel his cock plunging into her. 

“Hermione,” he warned, starting to pull his hand away.

“No,” she complained, taking him by the arm. “Please don’t stop.”

“Are you still…?” A wry smile spread on his face. 

“Not… exactly,” she tried to explain, “it just—pressure feels really good right after.”

He cocked an eyebrow, grinding the palm of his hand against her.

“Ohhh, that’s nice.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re not going to fuck.”

Her eyes shot open. “What?”  
“Not in a dressing room, pet,” he said, sounding cavalier. “When I take you—” he pushed his palm into her again, “—I want you on a bed, where I can have you all laid out. Take my time. When the rest of the night is ours. Just give me another hour here and then come home with me after.” He pushed against her again. 

She rolled her hips into the pressure, frowning. “Why not both?” 

He laughed. “Look at you—you’re already going to have to fix your hair before we go back out there. After I’m done with you—”

“—well if I’m already going to be fixing it anyway…” she grinned, pressing into him again. 

“Not yet,” he smiled, shaking his head.

“Sirius,” she complained, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. She rolled her body against his hand again and asked, “please?”

“Not going to work.” 

His cocky expression lit a flame inside her. “Then…” she took him by the wrist, determined to wipe the arrogant look off his face. “Let me at least put my mouth on you?” And she brought his fingers to her lips, kissing and sucking her own tangy wetness into her mouth. His eyes rolled back and she suppressed a smirk, concentrating on her task. She sucked harder, then released his fingers with a _pop_ to say, “come on, love, let me suck your cock again. Right here.”

He groaned, bringing his fingers back to her mouth. He began to push them in, actively thrusting as far as his second knuckle. Her breath caught as he took back the control, her grip loosening from his wrist. She moaned, leaning into the sound in a vain attempt to pull him back under her command. 

“You are very fucking bad,” he growled, and she didn’t have to exaggerate the sound he elicited from her this time. After a final push, he pulled his fingers out and gripped her jaw instead. “I already said no,” he warned her with a smile. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

She gave a long, slow sigh. 

“Alright?” he asked. 

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Let’s get bloody cleaned up.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione had helped gather Sirius’ hair into approximately the same disheveled knot he’d arrived with, and he’d cast a glamor over a love bite she missed. 

“Knickers?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Hmm.” He made a show of considering, then said, “no, I don’t think you get those back.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “And what am I supposed to wear instead?”

“Nothing, love. Besides, your dress is miles long, it could be much riskier.” 

“Oh, could it! And you could be much kinder.”

“You wouldn’t like that, though, would you, love?” he grinned.

They slipped out to rejoin the dancers, exiting through opposite doors to avoid any additional suspicion their shared absence may have caused. 

It was amazing how the same party that had felt like an enchanted fairytale only an hour ago was now reduced to a chore to be finished. Hermione waited for an acceptable time to leave, milling about as friends and strangers alike stopped her to congratulate her on her speech. But even the chorus of approval was no match for her excitement at the thought of finally sharing Sirius’ bed. It was at least easier to avoid his eye, now that she’d had him to herself for a few moments. 

She caught up with Viktor again, apologizing for taking so long backstage. They danced for another song, and whenever the fabric of her dress moved against her bare hips she thought of the wizard who’d put her in the predicament. She did her best to suppress these thoughts, using her remaining mental energy to ask Viktor about the new line of brooms he was developing, and if he’d gone on any promising dates lately. Then, as a new song began to play, she caught Ginny’s eye and the redhead waved her over. 

“God, can you speak, woman! That was just _perfectly_ done,” she said.

“Oh, well, thanks! I had a bit of help writing it.”

“Sirius mentioned that,” she nodded, “but you were the one speaking.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, giving her a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “Really brilliant, Hermione. And you guys made it, didn’t you?”

“Made what?”

“The fund-o-meter!” Ginny said, pointing. “When Lee got that chant going after you went offstage? At least that top third is all from you.” 

“Right!” said Hermione “Sorry, I was, um, in my dressing room. Just, taking a breather,” she smiled. 

“Of course,” said Ginny, raising her eyebrows. “Well, I think I’ve gained another shoe size, so we’ll be heading off,” she said, taking Harry’s hand. “We’d better find Sirius before we go… have you seen him?”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, yeah, no, not in awhile,” she shrugged, smoothing her curls. “Ask the waiter with the macarons, maybe?”

Harry tilted his head at her.

“Oh, I thought—doesn’t he like, really love those or something? Or, who knows, maybe it was maca _roons_ , or—” She shrugged, trying to will the burning from her cheeks. “Anyway, I should go talk to Viktor. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” said Ginny, bouncing her eyebrows.


	14. Firsts

“You changed,” said Sirius, as he opened the front door.

“Thought I’d freshen up a bit,” Hermione said airily. “You changed too,” she pointed out.

He stepped aside to let her in. “Yeah, but _I_ really liked what you were wearing earlier. Especially the undergarments,” he grinned, looking as if he could see through the black skirt she’d put on.

“Well, then, you’re in luck,” she said, stepping inside. “I kept that bit the same.”

“God, woman,” he said, pulling her in and closing the door. They kissed, the moment quickly growing more heated as their tongues and hot breath mingled. She felt his hands at the hem of her skirt, swiftly smoothing up the back of her thighs. He grazed over her arse, moaning into her mouth at the confirmation that it was, indeed, bare.

“You,” he said sternly, “Upstairs. Now.”

As they stepped into his bedroom, Sirius gathered her in his arms, pressing her body close to his as he kissed her neck. She felt his hand under her thigh; he was pulling her up. His other hand was under the opposite leg, and he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his hardness through his jeans as he pressed against her bare center. He rocked into her and she held tightly around his shoulders, returning the motion against his hips. _He could fuck you just standing here,_ she realized, marveling at his strength. 

Then he was tossing her onto his bed. He yanked his shirt off and crawled up her body, going slow as he pulled her blouse up. He kissed up her stomach and over her bra, which she wasted no time in unhooking, tossing it after the blouse.

“You’ve got great fucking tits,” he said, taking one in each hand. Her nipples were already beginning to harden, and as he worked his thumbs over them they stiffened into taut buds. He pushed her gently to lay on her back and took one breast into his mouth, sucking at the hard peak. 

She basked in the attention, the silken feel of his tongue on her body. “That feels so good.” He switched to her other mound, replacing his mouth with his hand to pleasure both sides at once. She was very conscious of the lack of knickers under her skirt, the slightest push of air reminding her how wet she was. 

He seemed to sense her need, because he soon shifted so his leg was in between hers. She rubbed herself greedily against his thigh, far from caring about the wet kiss it would leave on his jeans. Her hands were at his fly, unzipping as he sighed into her breasts.

“You’ve got a great fucking cock,” she grinned, echoing his words as her hand wrapped around him. 

“Ahh,” he sighed, immediately beginning to push himself into her hand. But the mimicry of the act only reminded her of what she wanted more, and she was quickly pushing his jeans down. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, sucking hard on her nipple as he struggled to get them the rest of the way off. After he’d tossed his remaining clothes aside he started on her skirt, feeling around the back for a zipper. He pulled his mouth away to concentrate just as she grabbed his cock again. He groaned, yanking the zip down as she pumped her fist. 

Finally free from their clothes, he took her wrists and pinned them at her sides. She gave a soft ‘oh’ at the motion, and then his face was between her thighs. She parted her legs, sighing up at his ceiling as he placed wet kisses on her pussy. She felt she was half soaking already, but he only laved at her center, looking more eager than ever. 

“Mmmh,” he sighed into her. His eyes closed, and watching the obvious enjoyment on his face sent a flutter through her chest. She felt herself sinking deeper into the mattress. Tension drained from her body, her shoulders releasing, her hips loosening as he licked into her cunt. Each drag of his tongue through her slick folds sent a hot, bright buzz of electricity from her pussy to the center of her brain, making her want more; making her want _him_. 

“Sirius,” she breathed, and when he stopped to look up at her she was briefly torn. “I want you—so fucking badly…”

He moaned a ‘hmm,’ as he released her hands. “I could do this all night,” he said, staring down at her cunt.

“There’s always tomorrow,” she smiled, reaching down to urge him up by the shoulders.

His eyebrows bounced at that, and he crawled back up her body to hover over her. He wiped his wickedly glistening lips, then came down to rest his elbows on either side of her head.

“Please,” she whispered, reaching down to palm him again. 

His eyebrows contracted slightly at her touch. She pumped her fist down his length, enjoying watching him so closely. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, concern flickering across his face.

“Yeah,” she breathed, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock.

“Mhh.” He hung his head, his brow furrowing. “Are you—” As she brushed over the sensitive head a second time, his eyes locked onto hers again. “—Just wait, for a minute. You’re sure you want this?”

“Sirius,” she sang, trying to convince him. She released her hold, running her hands up his chest to rest on his face. “I’m positive. Green, all—bright green here. Are you alright?” 

“Yes. Chuffed. Perfect,” he sighed, stroking the backs of his fingers over her cheek. 

Feeling inspired, she took his hand and pressed her lips to the warm flesh of his palm. He chuckled, brushing his thumb over her lips. “Alright, love. But you’re going to have to ask for what you want.” And the half-grin on his face told her this wasn’t about positioning and preferences.

“Mmm.” Already she felt the sensation of warm liquid dripping through her. “Please let me have you?” she asked, knowing full well it wouldn’t be the right answer.

“Tell me what you mean, Hermione, and I’ll consider it,” he said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Fuuuck,” she groaned. How she adored this feeling, being under him, under his touch and his words and his will. 

“That’s right, use that dirty little mouth of yours. You want my cock?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Tell me.”

“I want your cock, Sirius.” It was as good as his own voice, on her lips, and it turned her insides to molten lead.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on her as she felt her own lashes fluttering. Then he was pressing himself against her. 

“God,” she whispered, feeling another trickle of arousal as he rubbed the head of his cock into her slit. 

“You’re still taking that potion?” His voice was low, still, but something had shifted in his tone, reminding her of the Sirius that was Harry’s godfather, her professor’s friend. Even as her mind twisted around the new idea, her body yearned for him all the more. 

A shiver of gooseflesh spread across her chest, pulling her nipples tighter. “Yes, sir,” she answered with only the hint of a smirk.

He raised his eyebrows, a grin breaking across his face. “Careful, I could get used to that.” 

He continued to tease his cock up and down her pussy, swirling at her clit, barely thrusting at her opening. She responded to his every movement, arching her back to try to get more contact. “Please, Sirius?”

“You said you wanted my cock,” he said, still wearing that amused smirk, “here it is.” He punctuated the sentence with a thrust, _up_ through the lips of her pussy instead of _in,_ where she needed it so badly. “Or did you mean to be more specific?”

“Sirius,” she said in a warning tone, her hand coming up to his throat, “I want you. To fuck me.” 

She watched, captivated, as a flush broke out across his face. Then he was staring her down again. “Mmm, there’s my good girl,” he breathed. 

_Fuck!_ She might’ve died on the spot. He positioned himself at her entrance, holding her gaze for another long second before he pushed in. 

“Ahh—” 

“—Circe!”

_Yes, finally._

He pushed deeper, until he was half-sheathed inside her. They lay looking at one another, panting in the glorious relief of it. Something she couldn’t place flickered in his eyes.

Then he was kissing her. His tongue swept into her mouth and she tasted herself on him. He pulled his hips back, readying for another thrust. Inside again. He caught her lip in his teeth. She widened her legs, giving him access. Another deep, tangy kiss. Out, and in, so _full_ as hot wetness mingled between their bodies. He buried his face in her neck, her hand was in his hair. She wrapped her legs around his torso. He pumped into her. Her ankles locked behind his back as he thrust deeper. 

“God this is fucking—”

“–perfect. You’re perfect.”

They worked their way up to a rhythm, and Sirius pulled his head back back, eyes closed. Where there was most often a cocky grin or a dark stare, only sheer bliss shone on his face now. She smiled, watching his unfiltered features until he opened his eyes again. His eyebrows bounced slightly as if he’d just been caught. She sent him an encouraging smile, and he grinned in response. There was something so bloody boyish about him, she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What?” he asked, slowing his pace as he joined her with a chuckle.

“Nothing! I, I don’t know, really. You’re just so… and it’s really good—so good.”

He paused for a moment, brushing the hair back from her face. “You remember when everything felt surreal?” he asked.

“It does again, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at her, his brow furrowing even as he smiled. 

“Come here, Sirius Black,” she grinned, pulling his head down to kiss him. The effort to reassure him paid off immediately as they fell into the now-familiar way they kissed. A graze of teeth, a nudge of tongue. The only difference was that his stilled cock was currently pulsing slightly just inside the opening of her cunt. “Hermione fucking Granger,” he said, shaking his head as she moved her lips to his neck. 

“Come on,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “On your back.” 

He lifted his eyebrows at that, making her wonder. Was he surprised she would want to be on top? _Or maybe he doesn’t want to be bossed around,_ she thought. _Well, someone has to take the lead on these things_. Although changing positions always seemed to interrupt the flow a little, she felt sure he would forgive her for it if she could just show him—

And he was sliding back into her, deep, holding her hips to him. She barely had time to register the feeling when he rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him until she was astride him, with his cock still buried deep inside her. 

“Wow,” she couldn’t help but say. Already she was sighing at his self-satisfied grin. 

“Oh, love,” he shook his head, “you are… just the right balance.” 

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, beginning to rock on him. 

“Mmm. Yeah. Got some experience, haven’t you? You’re certainly not a prude.” 

She rolled her eyes. He brought one hand to rest on her hip, and with the other, started to trace a line downward from her navel. “But,” he continued, “I can already tell there’s going to be lots of things I can show you that your little boyfriends never did.”

She knew it was a dig, in a way, at her inexperience. Relative to his, at least. But as his finger traced lower, she couldn’t help but wonder what else he was talking about. He stopped just short of her clit, and she furrowed her brow in frustration. 

“Oh, you mean like teasing me to the brink of madness?” she smirked, lifting off to press onto him, hard, again.

“That’s one,” he smiled, wetting his finger in his mouth. “God, you look like a fucking work of art when you’re on me like this.” 

She grinned, arching her back a little. “Thanks.”

“Your tits from this angle…” he said, shaking his head. With his moistened finger, he began to trace circles over her clit while she rode him.

She sighed a long ‘mmh’ as he continued to touch her. The dual sensation of his fullness inside her and his hand at her clit made her feel incredible—pampered, royal even. Was it possible it was too much? She recalled how Cormac had whinged even when it was her own hand.

_“It’s just—if you always have to touch yourself, you know, while I’m trying to—I just, I can’t really get a good angle, can I?”_

She clenched her jaw at the memory. But Sirius was the one touching her now. Surely it would be hard for him to concentrate as he tried to focus on doing two things at once? _Oh, like how most women have to?_ a spirited voice reminded her. But was he doing it because he wanted to or…?

“Alright?” he was asking.

“Oh, yeah, fine! Sorry.” She started to pump her body on him quickly.

“Don’t apologize,” he said sternly, gripping her hip to hold her in place. She drew in a sharp breath as he continued, “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. Just, you don’t have to keep touching me.”

“Oh, right,” he said, pulling his hand away. “Not your thing?” He smoothed his hands up her thighs, and she thought he looked almost reprimanded.

“No, no, it’s good! Everything’s… bloody great,” she cast her eyes about, feeling foolish. “I just don’t want you to… feel like you have to, or anything.”

“Little witch,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he fixed his eyes on hers. “I don’t—” He shook his head, a soft laugh sounding in his chest. “I’m not exactly known for doing things because I feel like I should. Yeah?” 

“I just meant—”

“—I _want_ to touch you. I want to fuck you and touch you and make you come.”

“Okay,” she sighed, clenching around him involuntarily. “That does sound pretty fun.”

“Mmm. It’s alI l can fucking think about some nights. Lying here…” He moved to touch her again, drawing slow circles around her sensitive nub. “Picturing your pink cheeks, those soft, dark eyes. Feeling you unravel in my hand…” He shifted, thrusting up into her. “Or on my cock…” 

“Ah, god,” she whispered, moving in response. 

“That’s it.” 

As they started to find a rhythm, he continued to swirl around her clit. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations under her. His lean body, his hard cock, his gentle touch. 

“Can you go—a little harder?” she asked. “With your hand, I mean.”

“So good, telling me just what you want,” he said in a low voice. He took his hand away and she saw him gather spit onto his two fingers before he pressed into her clit again. 

“Mmm, I like that,” she whispered. “A little faster,” she said, quickening her pace as she rode him, as well. 

A moan sounded from his chest as he matched her with his thrusts. 

“I think I could come,” she said breathily.

“Oh fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Ahh, love it when you say that.”

“Then you better do as I say.”

“Yes, fuck!”

“Grab your tits for me. I want to watch you play with yourself.”

“Mmm.” She obliged him immediately, hoping to please him with the way she fondled her two handfuls. He was tightening the firm circles on her clit, smaller and closer, as she felt the tense ball of energy inside doing the same. “Will you finish with me?” she asked, bouncing on him hard. 

“Yes, fuck. Where do you—”

  
“—Inside? Please.” She pinched her nipples, staring down at him with lust blazing in her eyes.

“Fucking Circe.”

“Yes?”

“Mmm.” He thrust hard into her, gripping her hip to hold her almost still as he pounded his cock up into her pussy. “Beg.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, powerless to the man beneath her.

“Did you hear me?” He said it just as he caught her clit in the valley between his index and second finger. 

She gasped, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “Right there, don’t stop.”

His fingers obliged, but his eyes were still hard on hers. “I told you to beg.”

“Mm—fuck! Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?” As he thrust into her pussy.

“Please, will you—” It felt so scandalous, and besides, she could hardly tear her attention from what he was doing to her body. She was close, so very close.

“Tell me.”

“Will you come inside?” The ball of energy at her core seemed to be glowing from within.

He released her hip, and suddenly she felt a slap on her arse. “Where?” he demanded. 

“Ahh, fuck!” she keened. 

“Be a good girl for me, Hermione.”

“Yes, I will!”

“Where?”

“Sirius…” she closed her eyes and was rewarded with another, sharper spank. “Ahh!” her eyes flew open, locking on to his stern gray stare. 

A warmth immediately rippled across his face, his brows drawing together. _Alright?_ He seemed to be asking. She nodded, guiding his wrist back to her arse again.

“God woman. Such a bad little girl, aren’t you? Fucking Depraved.” 

He slammed his cock up into her, the smack of her arse on his thighs sounding rude and wanton.

“Your pussy’s fucking dripping wet from this—you love it don’t you?”

“Yes!” _Slap_

“Gonna come for me?”

“Yes, almost—“

“That’s my girl.” 

“Ahh, Sirius!” Finally, she felt the white-hot fire inside explode, spreading out from her clit to her stuffed cunt. Ripples of pleasure tore across her body, pulsing at her pussy, making her hips tighten and her thighs shake.

“Good girl, good fucking girl.”

She reached down to move his hand off her. He started to slow his thrusts too, and she protested, “don’t stop that, need you.” Both his hands came up to her waist as he drove into her sodden, clenching cunt. “Need you to come—come inside me.”

“Ugh,” he grunted, “going to fucking soak you, little girl.” Another slap on her arse, hard, then his hand was back on her waist, squeezing tightly.

“Yes, please!”

“Say it.”

“Come in my pussy, Sirius,” she whined like a whore.

“Oh, you filthy little tramp.” 

“Please!”

Two more hard thrusts, and on the third slam, he burst within her. She watched in breathless fascination as his head hit the pillow, eyes blinking slow, face flushed and sweaty. As she imagined the sticky mess he was making of her, she clenched involuntarily around his throbbing shaft. He gave a distant-sounding moan at the motion, his eyes fluttering open again. She continued to rock herself gently on his cock until his hands came up to still her hips. 

“Was that alright?” she asked, nearly out of breath.

“Mmmm. I guess,” he shrugged, eyes sparkling as his mouth twisted into a grin. “Yes, fuck, are you daft—Fuck! My perfect little witch.” He leaned up and caught her head in his hands, capturing her lips in a slow kiss. “That was…” he murmured against her mouth. 

She pulled off of him, hearing the wet slurp their bodies made as they came apart. She was heady, almost dizzy from the whole experience, and felt the bed drawing her in. She flopped onto her back next to him, blood pounding in her ears. 

“...Incredible.” She felt him grab for her hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m going to clean you up in a second,” he continued, “I promise, just—” He looked over at her, a contented sigh on his lips. “Alright, love?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze. She turned to look at the ceiling, her cheeks burning. Her eyes moved slowly over the intricately carved paneling, and she felt her mind pulling her toward another place, another time. The house had to be over a hundred years old. _Hadn’t someone said it was Victorian?_ She wondered about the other people that had slept under this ceiling, before cars and electricity and— 

“Hey,” came a distant voice. “You still in there, pet?” 

She blinked at the face hovering over hers. Dark hair; dark eyebrows that were pulled together. 

“Sirius,” she said slowly, managing to make it sound less like a question than it seemed to be.

“Hey, Hermione.” His mouth was pulling into a curve, but his eyes still had that look of concern. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, back and forth in a hypnotizing motion. “You’re okay. That was bloody brilliant,” he whispered, and after a moment she remembered what he was talking about.

 _God, it was—_ she shivered, a sudden slew of images erupting in her mind. His hard face, the filth on his tongue, his rough hand colliding with her arse. _Fucking spanked like a child,_ her mind protested, even as her body remembered the irresistible _smack_. 

“I should—probably get cleaned up,” she said, trying to remember where she’d put her wand.

“Oh, love… I’ve just finished that. You’re all good. You’re—you’re okay.”

 _Oh._ She blinked up at him, noting that both the worry in his eyes and the smile on his lips had grown more pronounced. 

“You’ve been a bit—out of it, darling.” His hand trailed down her neck, and he began to gently massage her shoulders. “You alright?”

“I think, yeah. Are there… what happened to the blankets?” she asked, looking around.

The top sheet flew up from the floor into Sirius’ hand a beat later, and he draped it over her naked body. “That alright? You’re still pretty warm,” he said, reaching for his own trunks. She stole a glance at his softening member, realizing she’d never seen it this way before. It felt strangely intimate to see him like that.

After he’d put his underwear back on, he gave her a soft kiss on the temple and asked, “Anything you need? I’ve got loads of stuff up here.”

He flicked his wand at the wardrobe on the other side of the room, and when it opened, she was surprised to see very few clothes. Instead, the cabinet was stocked with bottles, boxes, and various objects. 

“Step right up,” he grinned. “I mean, not really. You stay put. But I’ve got… water, wine, chocolate, cold butterbeer, Calming Draught, tee shirts, cozy socks…”

“You’re sweet,” she laughed, beginning to feel more at ease. “But I don’t think your socks are going to fit me.”

“They’re not mine, I got them in the witches section at Madame Malkin’s,” he said, striding over to the wardrobe. “The shirts too.” 

“Are… are you serious?”

“You know I don’t like being asked that.”

She snorted. “But—why? Just for this?”

“Yes, you little fool,” he grinned, pacing over to lay the garments on the bed. “I _was_ planning to fuck you. And you said you wouldn’t run off this time. So. Anything from the _Aftercare Cupboard_ is yours,” he waved his hand. “But I can’t recommend the tea, I’ll have to wand-boil the water up here and that always gives it that… magickey taste.”

“We could just go down to the kitchen,” she shrugged. 

“Well, yeah, or apparate all the way home if you want your own clothes, but, I mean, come on,” he grinned, gesturing to his wardrobe again. “It’s right here!”

“It’s very sweet,” she smiled. 

“So?” he said expectantly, still standing at the foot of the bed. 

“Oh, um…” she looked over the inside of the cupboard. “Actually, could I maybe wear the shirt, um, you had on earlier?” she asked. 

He sent her a lopsided grin before reaching to pass the crumpled white shirt over to her. 

“‘Course.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Are you hurting at all?” he asked, reaching down to squeeze her feet in his large hands. “I looked you over a bit while I was doing the Cleaning Charms, but I didn’t want to—invade your privacy or anything.”

She laughed at that. “Wait, what? After… everything else?” The vision of him spreading her legs in a dressing room came to mind. 

“Well, you were a bit out of it, like I said, which is different.” He surveyed her face, his thumbs pressing idly into the soles of her feet. Then with a bounce of his eyebrows, he shrugged, “anyway I got Dittany, in the event that I fucked you too hard.”

“Sirius!” she said in surprise. 

“Oh, come on. ‘After everything else’?” he grinned, crawling up onto the bed next to her. She sighed, comforted by the warmth and weight of his presence. He pushed a curl off of her face. 

“Fair. Just felt a bit jarring.”

“Yeah, but I think—that’s kind of the whole thing, for you.” He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and continued, “we get into it a bit more gradually, and then we finish so suddenly. Obviously—as orgasms go. But maybe that’s part of why it’s a bit hard for you to, you know… transition back out of it. If it’s all very sudden.”

“Hmm.” She wondered if this was Sirius or the books. It did sound like something she might’ve read. “Yeah, maybe.”

“So if we can just get you using phrases like ‘come in my pussy’ more in daily life…” he grinned, already bracing for the incoming pillow hit she was winding up.


	15. A Discovery

One bar of chocolate and half a cup of magickey tea later, Hermione was feeling warm and light. 

“I’m glad we danced last night. I mean tonight—god, it’s been quite a day,” she laughed. 

“Me too,” Sirius smiled, passing the cup back to her. 

She sipped, trying to recall if she’d told him how much she liked chamomile with honey before bed, or if it had just been a lucky guess. 

“I’m glad you came over,” he said in that low voice that felt so solid and certain.

“Yeah. And I’m glad I stayed,” she whispered, staring into his silvery eyes.

He took her hand, lacing their fingers together on her lap. “You really are something, Granger.”

She took the cup out of Sirius’ hand, and, levitating it to the table, promptly climbed into his lap. “You’re a really good guy,” she sighed, leaning in to kiss him. 

He hummed into her mouth. “That’s what the papers are saying,” he laughed.

“I’m trying to be sincere,” she said, tapping on his chest with a reprimanding finger. 

She sucked on his lower lip, nibbling gently. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, running his hands up the back of her tee shirt. For a moment she had the thought that even just kissing this man—this wonderful, gorgeous, thoughtful man—would be enough.

Then she felt him beginning to grow hard beneath her. 

“Mmm,” she sighed, tracing her hand over the fabric of his trunks. “Want to… again?”

Their second coupling was altogether different than the first. He was gentle, and spoke only in hushed tones that reassured and complimented every part of her. They went slow, less in pursuit of the finish line and more in exploration of each other. She was calm, tuned in, trying to make herself stay in the moment with him. Somewhere near the middle, he rolled her onto her back and used his mouth on her again. She threaded her fingers into his hair as he moaned and licked and praised into her eager center. She finished with his mouth on her clit and his fingers inside her, waves of energy rippling through her and into him. As she lay spent, he mounted her again, filling her hungry entrance. When he was at his peak, he kissed her fervently, and she drank in his moans as he spent himself inside her once again.

\------------------

_Sunday, May 15th, 2005,_ Sirius told himself, was his favorite day yet. It was the day he’d woken up with Hermione Granger in his bed. This gorgeous, sensual, devastatingly clever creature, with her mane of curls splayed across his pillow. On his bed. _Wearing his fucking shirt._ It was surely the best day of his life. _Or maybe the 14th,_ he considered, when he’d finally gotten a chance to fuck her brains out. 

She was a light sleeper, as it turned out, which dashed his barely-formed plans of sneaking downstairs to try his damndest at a full English breakfast before she woke up. But it was a fair compromise that he got to press his body against her wriggling backside and kiss her neck instead. _Better to fuck her first, anyway,_ he thought, _then maybe we can cook together._

But then it was ‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet’ and ‘we haven’t even had tea!’ and instead he grumbled his way down to the kitchen to put the kettle on. The rest of the morning was all teasing touches, stolen kisses, and swats on the backside as he tried not to follow her around like a puppy while she started her day. She did, at least, accept his offer to cook—just eggs and toast, as he realized he hadn’t shopped all week. They were just finishing the washing up when the doorbell rang. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Hermione asked. 

Sirius checked the time. He was supposed to be having a drink with the Magarchitecht about a promising property his realtor had found, but he thought that was later. “Might be this fellow about the house…” he considered, turning to head upstairs. 

She followed, looking curious. As they rounded the corner to the entryway, she seemed to remember she was still only wearing knickers and his tee shirt. She laughed, stepping out of view. 

He, at least, was fully dressed from the waist down, and he reached confidently for the door.

“Ginny,” he said, surprised.

“Morning, boss,” she smiled, stepping into the house. “I have a few questions about M.A.M.”

“Ma’am?” he said slowly, cocking his head.

“Muggle-borns At the Ministry—you know, Justin’s pet project? Finchy,” she corrected.

“I—um, okay. First of all, that isn’t the final name, is it?”

She shrugged, “I thought it had a nice ring.”

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. “Red, it’s Sunday.” 

“I know,” she said, sending him a tight smile, “I’m just so excited because we got the funding! I want to be able to start working on it straight away tomorrow, so—unless this is a bad time?” she asked curiously, peering around. 

“It’s not ideal,” he said flatly. 

“Oh, well it won’t take long. Unless—” she drew out the word, “—you’re not busy, are you? Not… entertaining, or anything?”

Sirius snorted, sending a cocky smile at her. “In this?” he asked, with a glance down at his bare chest. Inside, though, his mind was beginning to tick. _But she couldn’t possibly be…_

“Of course not,” she grinned. “So there’s—you mean to say that you _are_ alone?”

 _Circe, maybe Granger was right about the little meddler._ “Yeah,” he said impatiently. “So what questions did you have?” He cast a furtive glance at the hall where Hermione had ducked away, and found it empty. _She’ll be having a heart attack_ , he thought.

“Well, my first question is, whose shoes are those?” she asked, cocking her head at the blue flats by the door.

 _Fuck_. “Someone must’ve left them,” he shrugged. “I had a girl over a few nights ago.” He swallowed, casting his fingers through his hair. “She’s a Muggle.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Muggle-born?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “People don’t tend to leave their shoes, especially those who aren’t exiting by floo.”

The air had left him. Hermione would kill him if he fucked this up. “Quite sure. Her name’s Liza,” he said evenly, feeling his heart beat in his chest. “I met her at a record store in Chelsea.”

“Do you really expect,” she said, stepping toward him, “that I wouldn’t recognize my _best friend’s_ shoes?”

“I—” he shook his head. “I didn’t even know you knew Liza,” he tried in a last ditch effort, forcing a grin.

“HERMIONE!” she called, and he closed his eyes. “Hermione, dear,” she said, almost sing-songy, “You can come down from the bedroom!”

Sirius turned at a noise behind him. _Oh god,_ he reflected, _and I thought_ I _could make you blush._ She’d either transfigured or conjured a rather convincing pair of jeans, and the shirt hugged her torso tighter than it had earlier. She would look almost normal if it wasn’t for the fact that her entire face was violently crimson. 

“Ginny! Sorry— _bedroom_?” she laughed, “dunno what you’re on about, Sirius and I were just discussing—”

“—no,” Ginny shook her head. “No, you weren’t, You’re not going to—”

“—just got here, actually—”

“—oh I’m so sure! That’s rich—”

“—if you’d just let me explain—”

“I can fucking explain it!” Ginny echoed triumphantly. “‘Oh, he works at the _Ministry_ ’,” she grinned. “I have three words. I. Bloody. Knew it.”

Sirius had never seen her look so satisfied in his life, but there was a blaze of fire underneath it. “That’s, um,” he said under his breath, “actually four words.”

“Here’s four words, YOU ARE HALF NAKED!” she shrieked, a manic cackle rippling from her mouth. “And you…” she turned her gaze back to Hermione, “ _that_ is transfigured.” She pointed to the shirt, or the pants, or both. 

“It’s not—”

“ _Revelio._ Oh, my GOD.” She clapped her hands, and Sirius saw that Hermione was now standing in her knickers. “And is that his _shirt?_ ”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, withdrawing his wand to quickly transfigure the knickers back into something more appropriate. 

“I can bloody dress myself!” Hermione said scathingly, transforming them back into the jeans as before.

He snapped his eyes to hers. _Like I’m the fucking villiain here?_

She shot him an angry look before turning back to Ginny. “I can’t believe you!”

“Sorry?” The redhead looked taken aback. “I can’t believe _you_! Merlin—how long have you lied to me about this? Your fucking boyfriend is _Sirius_?”

“I—what? No, no, no. No. He’s not—we’re not—he is not my boyfriend!”

Sirius found himself taking a step away, no longer facing Ginny but to the side of the two women. He tried not to count how many ‘not’s and ‘no’s she’d managed to work into the one sentence.

“He is! I know it’s him, give it _up_ , love! All this week—I’ve never seen someone play with a Galleon so much in my life. I just _knew_ it was you he was messaging! And then at the gala, god, you two couldn’t keep your eyes—”

  
“No, I’m not saying it’s not him! I didn’t lie, Gin, or—I lied—but, about exactly one thing. He does not work at the Ministry.” 

It did nothing to satisfy her. “But it’s Sirius! That’s different, he’s practically family,” 

“Look, I know it’s a bit—” Hermione searched for words, “—but it’s all very new, like I’ve said, and it’s not like we’re in a _relationship_!” She slung the word like it was something absurd. 

“Sorry, what?” he interjected. Both sets of eyes turned to him as he tried to make sense of what she was saying.

Hermione gave an agitated shake of her head, lowering her voice to say, “I mean it’s not—we’re not. We’re—sneaking about like teenagers!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sirius retorted, feeling his face beginning to warm. “It was so thick of me to think all the weeks of getting off and the fucking and the— _daily lunch dates,_ for Merlin’s fucking sake—”

“—well it’s not like we’ve actually discussed it!” she hissed, glancing again at Ginny.

“Oh god…” For once, the redhead was at a loss for words. “I’m—sorry. Um, I should probably… sorry…” she trailed off, turning for the door. 

Sirius scarcely heard the door close as he looked at the mix of anger and bewilderment on Hermione’s face. 

“Someone _left_ their _shoes_?” she emphasized, rounding on him. “Really—I’ve seen you talk your way out of much worse. That’s the best you could think of?”

“Oh, come on, you’re going to work that angle, are you? I’m the one that should’ve lied better about your fuck up?”

“We never should’ve answered the bloody door!”

“Well you didn’t seem that bothered when I was about to open it,” he said, jabbing his hand at the offending entryway.

“I’m not saying it’s only your fault,” she fired back, “did you not hear me specifically say ‘we’?”

“ _We_ need to get a grip on fucking reality about this whole thing—the cat’s already out of the bag, love! Are you really such a coward you can’t live with your best mate knowing?”

“I’m not a coward, you arse! I just didn’t want—" she huffed, stopping short to gather herself. 

He blew out a breath, irritated, not for the first time, at how obsessed she was with the secrecy. Only now he felt he had a new understanding about where it was all coming from. “So you thought—what, that we’d never tell anyone? Just carry on like this for months on end until you’re tired of it?”

“I—what?” she looked taken aback. “First of all, months? It’s been _three weeks_ , Sirius! That’s nothing!”

“This is nothing?” he tried not to shout.

“No—I didn’t—ugh!” she grumbled, “—I only meant, it’s just not a very long time! So much can go wrong in three weeks.”

 _Oh, much better._ “So that’s what you were counting on, is it?” he asked sarcastically.

“Not counting on, no—don’t put words in my mouth! It’s just—it’s all moving so fast.”

He blew out a breath, pacing to the other side of the entryway as he tried to make sense of her words. “I don’t understand—you’re the one always pushing for more, and sooner. How can it possibly be too fast?” He’d been so deliberate, so painstakingly careful.

“Well, it’s not—” she faltered. “I didn’t mean too fast, just—fast! If you would just listen for once—Where’s the Sirius from last night, anyway, that was so patient and thoughtful?” she quipped.

 _Standing here like a complete tosser_ , he thought _._ “Yeah—I don’t know—I mean, I’m not your fucking boyfriend, am I!”

“Come on! How can you be mad about that?” she said, rolling her eyes. She could be so fucking _cold._

“I’m not mad!” He was getting flustered. “It—just makes no fucking sense. Weren’t you the one that was so fixated on whether this or that was a _date_?” He slung the word in his best imitation of the way she’d spat ‘relationship’.

She let out a violent puff of air, fidgeting with her hair as she answered, “Yes, we went _on_ dates; but does that mean we were dat _ing_? No.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” he cried, throwing up his hands. “It’s all the same thing! What, because I never asked you to ‘go steady,’ is that why you’re—"

“—first of all, no one says that anymore—"

“—It was a joke—"

“—again, the point is that we never discussed what the hell we’re doing,” she articulated. “And I wouldn’t have said yes to anything official anyway—not so soon, at least! I mean—do you have any idea what it’s like getting together with someone _everyone_ you know already loves?”

“Are you insane? It sounds fucking wonderful!” he yelled.

“See, that’s how I know you don’t,” she shot back, “you obviously don’t know a bloody thing!”

“You just love saying that. No one else is as smart as you, are they? I’ve got eleven years on you—”

“—and _you_ just love to play that card! But what experience do you have in this? You’ve had very few actual relationships!”

“Did you fucking forget how I’ve spent the last two decades? I’m sorry—none of the dementors were single!” he raged. “Didn’t meet a lot of witches while I was on the run, did I?” 

“Look. I am very, very sorry about that,” she said, still half-shouting, though there was less edge in her voice. “All of that—once again, those are all very good things to bring up with a professional, which I’m not—” She stepped forward to reach for his hands, and he put his in his pockets. Her face looked stung for the briefest flash before her dark eyes turned to anger again. “But,” she huffed, “the fact remains, you don’t really know what we’re getting into, the way I do.”

“Ron, you mean?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes.”

“The bloke whose mum you still see more often than your own—are we talking about the same Ron, here?”

“Oh, from _your_ perspective, sure!” she scoffed.

“Or you know what, maybe you were thinking of Krum! Yeah, I see what you mean about that going up in flames—he only danced with you twenty times last night, and made a ridiculous donation—must be a lot of hard feelings still there—”

“That’s different!” she yelled. “And you’re welcome, by the way. The entire reason I brought him was for you! That ridiculous donation is for _your_ charity. And anyway, that’s beside the point; this—getting to this place, with both of them, but especially Ron—that took time and work and, god— _heartbreak_! Just because I can hold a civil conversation with them now, after how many years?” She closed her eyes to take a long breath. “Look, I’m telling you, at first it was awful. Because when you mix friends and romance you get a mess.”

“Great logic, very sound,” he said, clapping sarcastically. “‘Death is shit; avoid being born’. Do you think that, too?”

“Fine, you’re right!” She flung up her arms, sending what little composure she’d gained spinning toward the ceiling. “It _is_ fucking wonderful. It’s a really, really great idea, until it isn’t. First, it’s all so new and perfect, and you can’t find any flaws in them, and everything just falls into place, and all of these people are telling you how you’re going to be together forever and get married and have babies that look like—” she stopped to take a breath, then shook her head, “—and then you just feel like you’re going to bloody crumble under all of it! And then—then you do! Because inevitably, you break up.”

“Inevitably, really?” he challenged.

“Yes, almost certainly—and I know it’s not exactly sentimental, and I’m _sorry_ , okay, but everyone breaks up, Sirius! George and Susan, Percy and Penelope, Luna and Hannah. Me and everyone I’ve ever—”

“—Molly and Arthur? Harry and Ginny?” he asked pointedly. “What about your parents?”

But she was already shaking her head. “That’s different. All those are—are unfair comparisons.”

“Why? What makes you so different from Ginny?”

“Everything! It’s just—it just doesn’t happen that way for me, alright? Ginny’s—” she turned away, gathering her hair into her fists at the base of her neck. “She’s open, and cool, and just, _uncomplicated_.” She released her grip, shaking out her mane with a frustrated sigh. “I’m not exactly some girl-next-door.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. Sounds like a good topic for you to bring up with a professional,” he said with a mocking arch of his brow. 

“Oh, very clever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know what? Fine, I will. But my issues with Ginny are nothing compared to your whole—” she waved her hand at him “—everything.”

“Not Ginny,” he retorted, "your issues with relationships, and why you don’t think you’re allowed to have them.”

She took an actual step back, then, eyes going wide before she arranged her features back into that defensive stare he’d gotten to know so well. “Honestly, it’s just simple probability. _Most_ couples break up, no matter who they are. I know you’re not exactly the planning type,” she sneered, “but can you blame me for wanting to be a little cautious?”

“A little?” he laughed dryly. “This is an—outrageous amount of caution! I’m honestly surprised the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor.” 

“God, do you have to be so rude? Always so damned clever, aren’t you, with your little quips. If you want to have an adult conversation, by all means, I’ve been having one with myself for the last ten minutes.” 

“I’m sorry for trying to lighten the mood!”

“That’s exactly your problem, it’s not worthwhile unless you’re laughing, is it? Nothing’s that big a deal to Sirius Black—he’s got no promotions to worry about, no family, no money problems, never seems to worry about his friends—”

“—of course I care about my friends!”

“—then why don’t you listen to what I’m trying to—”

“—I’ve been listening! I hear you loud and clear—none of this is worth the enormous and terrifying risk of an awkward dinner at the Burrow!”

“An? _A_ singular, awkward day? Try weeks, try months. When Ron and I broke up, I thought I was going to lose everyone I cared about. It’s a million times worse than just splitting up, you have to break up with their family. You’ll have everyone you know choosing a side, and—and analyzing how things went wrong, and even after all the dust settles, it’s really never the same again! I mean, god, Sirius, I already have to spend every Christmas with one ex-boyfriend, I can’t imagine two,” she said, shaking her head.

 _This fucking witch,_ he thought, grinding his teeth. “Well you can’t break up with someone you’re not dating, can you,” he seethed. “Problem solved.” He reached for his jacket and headed for the back door. “I’m off—let yourself out.”

\------------------

“Mr. Black, sorry to trouble ye, but is everything alright?” 

Sirius blinked across the table, realizing he’d been lost in his thoughts. 

“Ah, all good, Mr. Merrick, just a rough day.” He thought of the mess that awaited him at home. Four lamps shattered in the study, an incinerated rug, and several upended shelves of books, to be specific. The books were just for her. “One of the worst days I can remember, actually.”

“Oh, aye,” he nodded, “Another round, then, before we get into the details of this property?”

Sirius nodded with a sigh. “Good man.” He strode up to the bar and ordered two firewhiskeys. He supposed he should be thankful to hang around someone he could be seen with at normal wizarding establishments. Even if he was a middle-aged Scotsman.

“Do ye smoke?” Merrick asked when he returned to the table. 

An old itch teased at his throat as he watched the man flick the silver case open. “Absolutely.”

And they moved out to the patio, drinks in hand. The Scotsman was surprisingly easy to talk to, and in each smoky exhale Sirius found himself divulging more about the hot-tempered witch he couldn’t shake from his mind.

“Sounds like she’s really got ye by the bollocks,” he observed. 

Sirius snorted, helping himself to a second cigarette. 

“Aye,” Merrick smiled to himself. “Reminds me of a lassie I met right outta Hogwarts. Anna was her name…” he looked fondly into his glass before shaking his head. “That was all before your time, though, back in the sixties.”

He felt his lip quirk at that. He’d been thinking of the Magarchitecht as an older man, closer to his parents’ age than his own. But they’d only just missed each other at Hogwarts.

“So,” the Scotsman continued, “What’re you fixin’ to do about it?”

He scoffed, then took a long drag. “Don’t fucking know, to tell you the truth.” 

Merrick nodded, taking a contemplative sip. “Well, as my mum would say, ‘be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead’.”


	16. The Trial

_They’re both just so fucking stupid_. There was no other way of looking at it. Ginny sucked the end of her quill, trying to make herself care about whether Finchey should’ve worded the letter ‘Dear Sirs and Madams’ or ‘To whom it may concern’. There was no way the Ministry wouldn’t bite on B.A.M.B.Y.’s newest initiative anyway—the optics were fantastic and it was already fully funded. ‘ _Dear Kings,_ ’ she thought about writing instead, ‘ _please just sign the damn thing._ ’ 

Hermione would be better at this, the bloody twat. She’d have written the letter herself, or better, gone in person, with a thoroughly rehearsed speech and illustrated presentation to go with it. She’d have drafted it the first day they came up with M.A.M., just to be sure she was one hundred percent prepared. Her perfect, stupid, lion-haired friend. 

‘ _To whom it may concern_ ,’ she wrote on the new parchment, ‘Greetings from the Black Association for Muggle-born Youth’—

— _Because that was her whole fucking problem!_ she thought, setting down the quill. Ever since she’d known the girl, Hermione had been a planner. A perfectionist, a polisher-upper, a _painstakingly_ perfect prefect. She’d planned her daily schedule in half hour increments since she was eleven—or, now that Ginny thought of it, more likely she’d been doing it long before then. She planned holidays, on average, two years in advance. Ginny was confident if she flooed the girl right now and asked which days her next eight periods were going to land on, she could tell her off the top of her head. But one did not just _plan_ for a man like Sirius Black. 

She sighed into her tea at the whole sodding inevitability of it all. Because of course they would get together. Ginny had caught a whiff of _something_ in the energy between those two months ago, but until recently had only chalked it up to their differences. Their many, loud, stubborn and sharp-tongued differences. But when she thought about it, they had at least as much in common. They balanced each other out, in a way. Add in a little shared time in captivity and—well, it was a wonder others weren’t catching on too. 

Over the last three days she’d had to stop and laugh so many times as she replayed it all in her head. The big date Hermione had asked her to help get ready for— _with a bad boy, indeed_. Her timid but nonetheless steamy retelling of their first afternoon together on the couch. 

Both of their huge, sappy doe-eyes all night at the gala. But Ginny already knew by that point, after a whole week of Sirius practically dancing his way around the office, grinning like an idiot every time he pulled out that coin. _The smoking Galleon,_ she thought with a smirk. She deserved a medal for keeping her excitement to herself. Well, nearly to herself.

A pang of guilt shot through Ginny’s chest each time she revisited the memory of barging in on them at Grimmauld Place. She’d imagined it would be more like a good old-fashioned prank than the embarrassed screaming match it had so quickly devolved into. Later that night she’d asked Harry a half dozen times whether she was turning into her mother, but it was hard to trust his answer without explaining the source of her chagrin. He’d tell her anything these days, bless him—as evidenced just this morning, when he’d told her she didn’t look like a whale in her billowing blue maternity dress. 

“How’s those edits coming along, Ginny?” Finchey asked, poking his head into her doorway.

“Ah, bit slow,” she shrugged apologetically.

“Oh. Well, um,” he said, glancing at the clock, “it really ought to be done today.”

“Yeah, but, you know—you’re lucky to have me for another two weeks,” she grinned, laying a hand on her round belly. “Oof!” she winced, when the smart little peanut kicked her square in the kidney at exactly that moment. “And in all fairness, who the hell is going to sign off on it today? It doesn’t seem like he’s coming in,” she said.

_And there’s the other half of the problem,_ she thought, waving as Finchey closed the door behind him. You’d think Sirius, reckless to the point of self-destruction, would’ve learned to put his precious ego aside after all the years of his impulsive decisions blowing up in his face. But the way her poor, confused husband had told it—Sirius wouldn’t see anyone else—he’d _Confringo’d_ everything that would break in Grimmauld Place in the last three days and showed no signs of cooling off. All Hermione’s messages and letters to him had gone unanswered, and Ginny was starting to feel like a broken record repeating the same useless advice over and over again. Because how was Hermione supposed to ‘go get him’ when he wouldn’t look past his wounded pride long enough to open the door for her? 

“Another glass of the house red, when you get a chance, please?” Ginny asked the server. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, prompting Hermione to say, “She means it for me.”

It was the fourth day in a row they’d gone out after work to have essentially the same conversation. Hermione would pick at her wounds, remembering another thing she’d said in the heat of the moment and prodding Ginny to help her analyze it. 

‘ _No,_ ’ Ginny had assured her gently, ‘ _I’m sure he just missed the nuance in the way people use the word dating, now, compared to in the seventies._ ’

‘ _Yeah,_ _maybe_ ,’ she’d said, patting her hand, ‘ _when you told him you didn’t want to be a couple—‘yet’ or no ‘yet’—yes, that might’ve stung a bit. But I’m sure he could get over it!_ ’

‘ _Sure,_ ’ she’d shrugged, looking at her with sympathy, ‘ _he might have taken it a little hard when you mentioned his lack of experience in relationships and then told him to get professional help._ ’

It was baffling at first, considering what fantastic advice she’d gotten from Hermione over the years about Harry. But it was always different when you’re the one in the middle of it. Especially, it seemed, for Hermione.

“God, what am I going to do?” she was sighing into her wine glass, her eyes shining. 

Ginny frowned. This was the part where she usually transitioned from fixating on deciphering the logic behind every word she’d uttered, into drowning in her emotions. It was cathartic, maybe, but not terribly productive. 

“It’s alright, love,” she said, getting up to sit on Hermione’s side of the booth with her. She scooted the table forward to make room for her belly and wrapped her arm around her friend.

“I just feel like,” Hermione said on a shaky breath, “I had no idea how wonderful… and hilarious, and confident, and—god, he’s handsome, Gin. And I didn’t even appreciate it until…”

“I know,” Ginny soothed.

“I just feel like such an arse.” 

“Well, don’t beat yourself up. Just remember all this stuff so you can tell him.”

She made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sob. “When? I don’t think he’s ever going to speak to me again.”

“Maybe you can try to talk to him after the trial on Friday?”

“Ugh, I’ve been bloody dreading that. I just don’t see how I can possibly go,” she said in a small voice. 

“You can and you must, love. Just take a spoonful of Calming Draught before you leave the house. It’ll probably be good to see him somewhere—um, where you’ve got to keep it civil.”

She felt Hermione sigh with her whole body. 

“Do I have to make Harry drag you there? Want to explain to him why it is you don’t want to go?” she urged, turning to her with a slight smirk. 

“Honestly, I don’t even care about people knowing anymore.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I didn’t want it getting out just yet, yeah. But if I’d known that would lead to the end of things…”  
“Oh, come on, Hermione, do you think this is really the end?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. 

“So, can I tell Harry, then?” Ginny asked with a grin.

“No,” she said flatly. “It wouldn’t do any good anyway.” She paused to swirl her wine around before she added, “I’d tell him everything if I thought it would, though.”

Ginny considered that for a moment. “Well, it might.”

\------------------

On the morning of the trial, Sirius decided his best course of action would be to get good and drunk. Half a bottle of Ogden’s Old later, he had nearly convinced himself he wasn’t going to go. Then he remembered that Harry had been among those assigned as additional security for the high-profile trial. He grumbled downstairs to look for a bottle of Sober Up Potion instead. 

Now uncomfortably clear-headed, he decided to pass the lunch hour taking apart and reassembling the engine of his bike. Though he was able to talk himself out of taking a shot of firewhiskey several times, the speed and sheer _volume_ of his thoughts quickly became too much to bear. Instead he settled for a butterbeer, which, to his credit, turned into only three more. At 1:55 in the afternoon, he took another large swig of Sober Up and set off for the Ministry, his veins buzzing uneasily. 

As the lift descended into the dungeons Sirius only felt his blood pressure rising. He stepped around a startled-looking witch to exit the lift, willing his brain to quiet as his feet carried him along the cold stone hall. He stopped just short of the heavy doors and turned around, only to see Harry approaching at the other end of the hall. 

“Sirius!” he called, “glad you made it.”

He sighed heavily, leaning against the wall as he waited for the boy to catch up. 

“Are you doing alright today?” The concern in Harry’s face made Sirius hate himself. 

“‘Course,” he said, forcing a grin. He clapped his godson on the back and reached for the door. “Shall we?”

He supposed he should be thankful that Harry was there, but it gnawed at his old insecurities picturing him across the dungeon, bearing witness as a court of law detailed the ways in which Sirius had failed. _Good fodder for Monday, at least,_ he thought, rolling his eyes. 

As he entered the room filled with the withered old members of the Wizengamot, he noted that the six Neo-Death Eaters were sitting, shackled, on the right side of the room. He stopped to look at them—Blondie, Shorty, Gargamel, Pyrites, Rodolph, and Pizza Face, like the six fucking dwarves—all looking wonderfully pale. Lestrange looked up when he passed by and sneered, and a memory of her trembling body next to his own flashed in Sirius’ mind. God, how he wanted to see him rot in Azkaban.

Opposite the accused was a small seating area for the witnesses to sit. Ron and the other Aurors had already taken their seats; the only two empty chairs were for himself and Hermione. _Side by side_ , he noted with a grumble to himself. Part of him was beginning to wonder why she hadn’t arrived fifteen minutes early for such an important event when the doors opened and she strode in. 

She looked terrible. _Well, or lovely_. She’d worn a black silk robe for the occasion, very formal, and one of her work blouses underneath. As his eyes traveled over her skirt, he realized he’d last seen the garment lying on his bedroom floor. Her hair was down, glossy and bouncy. She was a knockout, really; a god-awful, stinking gorgeous woman, but she had guilt and fear written all over her face. 

Her wild eyes scanned the faces of the Wizengamot until they landed on his. He clenched his jaw, willing himself not to look away. She startled like a creature of prey, then her gaze slid to the empty chair next to him. A flicker of lightness crossed her face and her eyes snapped back to his. He took her in. Her lips were pressed neatly together, but her eyes looked exactly the way they had when she’d taken him into her mouth. _Please_ , they seemed to say. 

She took her seat and whispered a soft ‘hello’ just before the Head Witch pounded her gavel. 

The trial began with a lengthy description of the events that had taken place a month earlier in the dungeons of the Lestrange Estate. The white-bearded wizard giving the report droned on, and soon the words began to blend together in his low, monotonous voice. Sirius had to keep forcing himself to pay attention until at one point he saw Hermione’s body straighten in his periphery. He realized then, that they’d gotten to the retelling of the day Gargamel had taken them to the showers. He listened carefully as the old barrister continued, but the entire part about the communal bathroom had been, as they expected, redacted. 

With the new surge of adrenaline in his body, Sirius listened intently as the older wizard moved on, next, to the summary of he and Hermione’s attempted escape. The facts were all there, but there was none of the juice, none of the details. For example, the official report didn’t reflect that it was largely Hermione’s plan that had nearly gotten them out. He couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of her realizing this glaring omission. 

As the barrister arrived at the retelling of their final day in captivity, Sirius couldn’t help but look at Hermione. Her eyes flickered to his and they took a deep breath in unison. He fought the part of himself that wanted to reach for her hand. _It’s going to be redacted_ , he reminded himself, _there’s nothing to worry about._ He felt his body tensing all the same as the story inched closer to those details he knew to be true. The Aurors staking out the estate, the firefighting outside their cell. But what transpired inside the cell was left unsaid, and finally, the old wizard was finished. 

“We’re going to take a recess at this time,” the Head Witch announced. It seemed rather odd, as they were only getting started. But as everyone got up from their seats and began to file out, Sirius found his fingers reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Before he got to the door, though, a dark skinned witch in Auror robes stopped him. “Mr. Black, Miss Granger, if you could please stay?” He recognized her, then, as the Auror he and Hermione had given their private statements to, regarding the redacted parts of their time in captivity. 

When the courtroom was emptied of everyone but himself, Hermione, the Auror, and three older witches from the Wizengamot including the Head Witch, the Head tapped her gavel. 

“Very good. Mr. Black, I trust you received your owl this week about the changes in proceedings?”

Sirius frowned, a vague recollection of burning letters bubbling to the surface in his mind. “Um, no, I don’t believe I did.”

The Head Witch raised an eyebrow, then looked over to the Auror. “Auror Singh, if you could,” she waved, indicating for her to speak. 

“Of course, Your Excellency,” she nodded. “Mr. Black, Miss Granger has requested that we invoke the Council of Three for this part of our proceedings today. It’s not typical in modern practice, but Wizengamot Law does allow for it, especially as an addendum to an existing trial where conviction is already likely. Essentially it means that the, um—redacted portions from the report of your experiences at the Lestrange Estate can be considered separately, by a smaller judiciary.” She gestured to the Head Witch and the other two members of the Wizengamot. “It’s most often used during wartime and in other situations where meeting with a full court is not possible, but in this case I think Miss Granger’s idea to apply it in the interest of—” she cleared her throat, “privacy, is, well, very inventive. She requested an all-witch Council, as you can see. Madams Banks and Christie, here, and Madam Head Witch Moore have already familiarized themselves with my report that includes your statements given after the incident. This is, you understand,” she said, looking back to Sirius, “the unredacted report, regarding the more intimate details of your kidnapping.”

“Understood,” he nodded, wondering when the hell Hermione had become such an ‘inventive’ law scholar, on top of everything else.

“Good, thank you Auror Singh,” the Head Witch nodded. “At this time, Miss Singh will question you both directly herself. We can start with you, Miss Granger. It looks like you stated…” she adjusted her glasses, looking down at her notes, “you requested that Mr. Black remain present at this time.”

“We can also question the two of you separately,” Singh interjected. “Pardon my interruption, Your Excellency.”

All heads turned to Hermione. But her eyes, large and full of apprehension, were on his. “Is that okay?” Her face again asked him, _please?_

“Alright,” he said, his throat feeling dry. 

“I understand it was a very difficult experience for you both,” Singh said gently. “I’ll keep the questions as brief as possible.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione squeaked, and Sirius found himself nodding along.

“Very good,” the Head Witch said again, and he wondered what part of this was at all good as she continued. “The defendants will be cross-examined separately afterward—likewise privately, though you are welcome to stay for that if you so choose. After the general trial is concluded, The Council of Three will then make a separate ruling on your testimonies from this private session. Any sentencing ordered as a result of this ruling will be considered in addition to the verdict from the general case. Questions?”

He exchanged a quick glance with Hermione before shaking his head.

“Alright,” said Singh, “Miss Granger, if you could take the stand first?”

Hermione nodded, her quick steps echoing in the mostly empty room as she took her seat.

She took her oath and Singh began. “I’d like to start with April seventeenth.”

_So she’s going chronologically, at least,_ Sirius reasoned with himself. It would give him time to adjust to the horror of the shower scene before they had to dive into the depraved and twisted abomination that Lestrange had forced them to play out on the mattress.

“...some sort of communal bath,” Singh was reading, “that is to say there were several shower stalls wherein Mr. Black and yourself were made to shower, unclothed, as a number of the Neo-Death Eaters looked on. And Miss Granger, were you asked to remove your own clothes? Or were they forcibly removed from your person?”

“I, um,” Hermione paused to think, already going pink.   
Sirius squirmed in his chair. 

“I don’t remember, exactly, honestly. I—I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

But the scene had been etched into his memory. First they’d ‘asked’, then forced her at wandpoint to take off her clothes. Shortly after, Lestrange had relieved her of her underthings himself, though at least he hadn’t laid his filthy hands on her. Sirius unclenched his jaw, reminding himself he would have his chance to answer soon enough.

“That’s fine, thank you. My only other questions regarding Sunday the seventeenth are about the Neo-Death Eaters present. Can you say for certain which of the defendants were there to witness your—experience? 

Hermione chewed her lip for a moment while she thought. 

“Specifically,” the Auror continued, “in Mr. Black’s statement, only Misters Keating, Lestrange, Pyrites, and both Rockwood brothers are mentioned. However, in yours, you described that all six of the defendants were present. Can you confirm whether Mr. Rosier was also in the room at that time?”

Sirius drew in a sharp breath as he heard the real names of the Neo-Death Eating dwarves for the first time. It was like reading headlines from 1980 all over again. And here was the next generation—or some could’ve been their grandchildren, he supposed—following in their footsteps. 

After Hermione had looked over all their mugshots and confirmed that Shorty—Rosier—was indeed present, Singh moved on to a line of questioning about which of them cast spells, made any attempt to stop Lestrange, or verbally harassed her while she was in the shower. 

“Thank you again Miss Granger. Moving on to the nineteenth of April—”

“—sorry, if I could just add one more thing from the day in the showers, before we move on?” Hermione interrupted. 

With a quick glance to the Head Witch, Singh nodded for Hermione to continue. 

“I wanted to say, I believe in my statement you should have notes about the—the bravery, and the showmanship that Mr. Black showed during, um, while we were made to shower?”

Sirius tilted his head. 

“Ah—hmm, yes, I think I remember you saying that, Miss Granger,” said Singh, thumbing through her folio of parchment sheets. 

“Excellent,” Hermione breathed. “I wanted to note, that without Mr. Black’s… what I would call an incredible show of creativity, with numerous successful attempts to draw attention away from me while we were in this—compromising position… If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve feared for my safety. More than I already did, anyway. For example, with his—what I would characterize, Your Excellency, as his superior wit—he managed to get several of them laughing and looking at him instead of me. Others, he played on their capacity to anger quickly and distracted them that way instead.”

Sirius closed his eyes. It was obvious what she was doing. Still, she’d never brought it up before, the fact that she’d noted his attempts and that it actually made a difference at the time. He felt a tightness in his heart give a little before it constricted again with its next beat. 

“Very good,” Singh smiled warmly, “well, that’s wonderful. Unfortunately since Mr. Black isn’t on trial today, we can’t use much of this toward the case, but it’s good to know you… found allies in one another.” 

“Actually, I think it should be considered, Madam Head Witch,” Hermione piped in. “Because if Mr. Black hadn’t distracted the defendants, I believe that my treatment would’ve been significantly worse. It is my understanding that Rodolphus Lestrange wished to rape me. He said as much two days later, as you’ll find in your reports. I believe he fully intended to take advantage of me on both occasions, and without Sirius’ intervention I don’t know how I would’ve prevented it.” She paused for a moment, looking from Singh to the Head Witch. “Therefore, I want to be sure he’s tried for _two_ counts of intent to commit rape.” 

“Miss Granger,” Singh said gently, “unfortunately it’s not up to witnesses to decide which charges will be brought against defendants. That would be up to the plaintiff. Unless you want to press charges yourself, but that would mean opening up a new case with a separate—.”

“—well, with all due respect, Auror Singh,” Hermione said pointedly, “the plaintiff is the Ministry of Magic, isn’t it? And you’re acting on their behalf for the purpose of this Council. I mean, don’t you agree that there’s ample evidence to at least consider the second charge?” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for her to respond.

“Very well,” she nodded. “Madam Head Witch?”

“Granted.” 

Singh dipped her chin, adding, “I do think the evidence is strong for this, Madam Head Witch. We’ll get to this with some later questions, but the memory Mr. Black provided, I think, is more than enough for at least the first conviction.” 

“Memory?” Hermione aside, her head swiveling toward him. 

“I—” Sirius faltered as he felt their eyes on him. “I didn’t show them anything private,” he assured her, “You’re not even in it. It’s only what he told me he wanted to do—to you. On the last day,” he finished, looking down at his hands. 

“Oh,” she breathed, blinking quickly. 

“You understand, I had to,” he said, not sure why a wash of guilt had come over him. “If only to show that I was acting in…”

“Right, of course,” she nodded, “I just didn’t realize. But that makes sense.”

The Head Witch tapped her gavel gently. “Miss Singh?”

The questions went on, largely revolving around which Neo-Death Eaters Hermione believed might’ve intended to sexually assault her. She answered to the best of her knowledge, and though she kept her composure, she’d grown noticeably paler. 

“Thank you so much for your cooperation so far, Miss Granger,” Singh said. “There’s water here—would you like a break before we move on to discussing the events from April nineteenth?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s keep going.” 

Sirius frowned, willing her to at least pour herself a glass of water. She looked like she’d been squeezed dry. 

“Alright. Moving on,” Singh said. “Regarding April nineteenth, I understand that you weren’t present when Mr. Lestrange, as Mr. Black puts it,” she looked at her notes and continued in an emotionless voice, “—‘Rodolph threatened to rape her unless I did it myself.’”

“Objection, Your Excellency,” Hermione said quickly.

“Sorry—you were in the room at the time?” Singh asked. 

“No, I wasn’t. Only—well, it’s the language you used. ‘Unless Mr. Black’,” she said, gesturing to Sirius, “‘did it himself’. It implies that Mr. Black is a rapist as well.”

Sirius closed his eyes again, willing himself to breathe.

“No, no, Miss Granger,” Singh said quickly, “of course he’s not a _rapist_. The circumstances were—”

“—not just the circumstances. Full stop: he is _not_ a rapist, and he didn’t rape, and wasn’t _made_ to commit rape, or was— _construed_ as rape—the record should show that in no way, shape, or form, did Mr. Black take part in any non-consensual sex of any kind.”

Sirius tried desperately not to grind his teeth into a fine powder.

“Alright, Miss Granger,” Singh said gently. Then she took a slower, clearer tone, as if she were trying to get information from an upset child. “But wouldn’t you say that you and Mr. Black were made to—that is, were forced to perform sexual acts, under duress?”

“I…” Hermione’s eyes slid slowly between the Auror and Sirius, her brow furrowing. Finally, she continued, “I would say that yes, Lestrange forced us, _mutually_ , to perform sexual acts, yes. And that Mr. Black and I agreed, individually—between ourselves, I mean, to perform these acts. So, that much was perfectly consensual.”

The Wizengamot witch who’d been introduced as Banks spoke next. “Dear, it’s clear that you mean to say Mr. Black wasn’t ‘out of line’ in any way. That is understood, and frankly not relevant to this Council. All we are trying to determine right now is whether Rodolphus Lestrange intended to sexually assault you. Go on, Diya,” she said, nodding at Auror Singh.

“Thank you, Madame Banks,” Singh said with a brief nod to the council. “Miss Granger, would you say that you were acting under duress when yourself and Mr. Black performed the sexual acts.” 

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, “from Lestrange. That we were, as I said, _both_ made to—participate in these acts.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Granger,” said Singh. “No further questions, Your Excellency.”

When it was Sirius’ turn to take the stand, he found himself wishing again for the briefly-promised recess. He breathed the stale air of the dungeon, his lungs itching for cigarette smoke instead. When it came to the showers, Singh asked him a series of questions parallel to the ones she’d posed to Hermione earlier. He confirmed that Rosier was there, that Lestrange had used magic to undress Hermione, and that he believed it was well within the realm of possibility that he intended to rape her that day. 

The questions about Tuesday the nineteenth were more difficult. 

“Mr. Black, I prepared a transcription of your conversation with Mr. Lestrange, from the memory you provided. I’d like to discuss a few key phrases he used, if that’s alright.” She proceeded to withdraw a sheet of parchment from her folio. “When Lestrange said ‘I had something else in mind’, what, in your understanding, was he referring to?”

Sirius was just about to give a sardonic answer when the Head Witch interjected “Auror, can you read the entire transcript, for context?”

_Wonderful,_ he thought. 

Singh began to read aloud what he could only assume was her best attempt at an unbiased monotone. The disgust shone planely enough in her eyes, though. 

_Lestrange: Where’s your—_ Muggle-born slur—?

_Black: Washing up. I don’t know if you lot knew, but it’s actually possible to do without an audience._

_Lestrange: Oh, that’s very good, Very good, Black._ _Tell her to wash everything. No curses or hexes on the docket today, Black, I had something else in mind._

_Black: What, tell me what the fuck you’re talking about._

_Lestrange:_ (laughs)  
 _Black: You bloody pervert, you sick, you twisted—_

_Lestrange: Maybe I’ll take her for a spin._

Singh looked up, shaking her head slightly as she blinked. 

Hermione exhaled a heavy breath that Sirius could hear from halfway across the room. He reached for the pitcher and for a moment the only sound in the courtroom was water splashing into his glass. Then the Auror continued.

_Black: Shut your pervert mouth, you fuck. When I’m out of here—_

_Lestrange: Tight little thing, isn’t she? She could be my personal—_ Muggle-born slur.

“You can just say Mudblood,” Hermione said in a voice that, to her credit, was only slightly strained. “It doesn’t bother me, and I prefer it for accuracy.”  
“Fair enough, Miss Granger. ‘My personal Mudblood,’ he says. Then,”

_Black: Don’t you dare._

_Lestrange: What, jealous, Black? Wish you had a filthy little Mudblood of your own? Tell you what, Black, why don’t you break her in for me._

“—Do you have to—” Sirius interrupted, and the Head Witch tapped her gavel. “Come on, your fucking highness!” he said, gesturing to Hermione. “She wasn’t there for this, she’s never heard it. Is it necessary for her to hear it?”

“Sirius,” she said, her eyes shining from half an empty courtroom away, “Thanks, but it’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry, I know this is difficult,” Singh asked. “If we need to take a brief recess…”

“No,” Sirius and Hermione said in unison. _Better to get it over with._

“Alright,” Singh nodded. “So, after that, Mr. Black attempts the Cruciatus Curse, then,” 

_Lestrange: You make me feel young! Try it again._ (He then casts the Shield Charm)

_Black: Shielding against a wandless man, cousin? You’re a fucking coward._

_Lestrange: Do it, you nasty little blood traitor. Make her scream, or I’ll do it myself, in front of you._ He then exits.

Singh sighed, folding her parchment in half. “Thank you, everyone, for bearing with that. Mr. Black, in this—conversation, what do believe Mr. Lestrange is referring to?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sirius said, gaping at her. 

“Order, Mr, Black,” said the Head Witch, with that fucking gavel again. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, throwing up his hands, “hmm, maybe he meant taking her for a spin on his broomstick? Yes that could be it. There’s _no_ way to say. That’s sarcasm, by the way, if you need it spelled out like everything else.”

“Apologies, Mr. Black. But even though it may be plain enough to you, since Mr. Lestrange never explicitly states his intent, it’s helpful if you provide for us what _your_ understanding of his meaning was, at the time.”

He cleared his throat. “He was going to rape her,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you, Mr. Black. Still doing alright?”

“Chuffed,” he said with a tight smile. 

“I don’t have much more,” the Auror assured her. “I appreciate your cooperation. Later that day, as you describe it, when you and Miss Granger… when you began to comply with the, ah, the ultimatum Lestrange had posed. Did he reiterate his terms at that point?” 

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know. We used a Muffliato so we didn’t have to listen to him. He might have.”

“So he didn’t say anything else? Before you cast the charm, maybe?”

“I cast it before he came back that night. So there was no interaction between us and him, during— _during_.” He said it with finality, as if the single word could stand in for the sweet and terrible thing that had happened between them.

“Understood,” Singh nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Black. No further questions.” 

“Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Black, Miss Granger. You may take a ten minute recess before we resume with the general trial.”

Tobacco had never tasted so good. Sirius leaned against the brick wall of a pub and inhaled deeply, letting the smoky flavor take him back to simpler times. The broken-down telephone booth at the other end of the street shimmered slightly and Hermione stepped out. He turned to duck around the corner, but she’d already spotted him. 

“Sirius!” she called, hurrying toward him. His stomach lurched and he considered disapparating. “That was so—god, I’m so, so sorry, Sirius. _Please_ understand, I was a royal prat, a complete—”

“—Hermione, I can’t—I just can’t right now, okay?” He took a long pull of his cigarette, trying to focus his attention on the glowing red tip.

She stopped abruptly a few paces away. “I…” her voice quivered, her eyes already shining. “I know, I’m sorry. Can we please—”

“Not today, alright?” he said sharply. “Not with every-fucking-thing else.”

“I know,” she whispered, casting her eyes down at the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. What if I—can I promise?—please, I promise I won’t talk about anything except the trial. I just want to know you’re okay, and, and to say that was so…” as she met his eyes, she trailed off.

He kept his gaze trained on her face, taking in the guilt and fear and hurt. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, turning to lean his back against the brick again. “Alright?”

She released a swift lungful of air, a wash of relief rippling across her features before she looked down again. “Yeah. I mean, god, that was all incredibly intense. But—are you?” She leaned her shoulder on the building, still facing him.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “fine.”

They stood there in silence while Sirius’ brain seemed intent on flicking through every memory he had of the damn witch. 

Finally, she said, “you smoke?”

_Not usually_ , he thought of saying. _Old habit—I know I shouldn’t._ Or, _don’t even start, Granger,_ with a wink. Or _shut your stupid mouth_ or _just tobacco_ or _not just tobacco_ or—

“Sometimes.”

“Oh,” she seemed to calculate. He wondered sarcastically if it was a deal-breaker. 

“So, Council of Three, huh?”

“Yeah? What did you think of that? I wrote to you about it first but… anyway, I found it in a book at the Ministry library. It dates all the way back to Arthurian times—I never thought they’d go for it, but here we are.”

“It was a good idea,” he conceded. 

“Do you think so?” she beamed. “Because I thought, well of course they still need to be tried for all of—everything we went through. But I just couldn’t imagine talking about all that in front of the whole Wizengamot, not to mention Ron and Harry and half the Aurors. And even when it’s supposed to be confidential, you know, things get out. You never know where Rita bloody Skeeter might be lurking,” she said with a dark laugh.

“Yeah. Well, it’s probably getting to be that time…” he said, checking the time. 

“Oh, right,” she said softly. 

They started for the phone booth. Sirius walked briskly, trying to keep a few paces in front of her. 

“Sirius,” she said, jogging to keep up, “before we go back down, could I please just say—”

“—yeah, no.” His voice sounded harsh as he stopped and turned to face her. “We’ve got enough to deal with today, alright?”

“I—” her mouth hung open for a moment before she gave a resolute nod. “Of course. Sorry.”


	17. Faith and Courage

Hermione wasn’t sure she had it in her to apparate, so she took the tube home from the trial. Sirius had slipped away as soon as the verdict was announced, not that she’d be fool enough to go running after him again. As the London Underground rumbled along its tracks, she sat, swirling in a strange mix of emotion. Lestrange had gotten life in Azkaban, as she’d hoped, though the second count of intent to commit rape didn’t stick. Pyrites and the Rockwoods had the next steepest sentences, having assisted in the actual kidnappings. Three hundred years was as good as life, anyway, with no real possibility of a retrial. The rest would be released when they were very old men, if they lasted that long. 

She supposed she should’ve felt relief, safety, a certain lightness in her step, now that her captors had been locked away. There was some of that with Lestrange, the only one she’d really had any fear of. Mostly, though, her heart was quietly drumming to the satisfying tune of righteousness. Justice was served; the world as she knew it was right again. Well, not quite her whole world. 

When she got home, she allowed herself a thirty minute soak in the tub and a glass of Merlot before she began on the letter. It occurred to her that she could also make herself a draft of what she’d actually say to him when she delivered it. _But no—that’s ridiculous. It’ll sound rehearsed, anyway_ , she thought. She settled instead for only making a list of bullet points. As she scratched away with her quill, she heard a tapping at her window. 

“Ruby!” she smiled, hurrying over to let in the Potters’ owl. 

_What a day. Hope you’re holding up okay. But I’m so bloody glad for you! We’re inviting everyone over for brunch tomorrow to celebrate. See you at 11?_

_-Harry_

Her heart leapt at the idea of getting another chance to talk to Sirius, but it sank just as quickly when she realized how he would probably feel about that. She sighed, reaching for a new sheet of parchment. 

_Sounds lovely, but I’m off to my parents tomorrow. Go ahead without me, though—and let the others know I’ll be there in spirit! See you at the Burrow hopefully._

She could only hope Harry would actually pass the message on to Sirius, so at least one of them could celebrate. 

Sending the owl off with a treat, she sat down again to work on her other, much more important message. She revised the letter until she was satisfied, then shifted her focus back to her talking points. After reworking them three times, she scrapped both the bullet points and the letter and started fresh. As she dipped, scrawled, and stroked Crooks, the lump was ever in her throat. But she made herself swallow and gritted her teeth. The message, from Opal, Ginny, and even her mother, was quite clear: the time for tears had passed. And besides, one of them had to set their emotions aside or they’d never get anywhere. 

She awoke Saturday morning with ink on her face and her head on her desk.

At two thirty, Hermione couldn’t wait any longer, and apparated to Grimmauld Place. As she walked up to the front porch, something looked off, and she realized all of the flower pots were missing. _Packing up?_ she thought, wondering if he’d made progress on building the new house. For a brief moment, she feared that he’d already moved, and would never tell her the new address. 

She huffed, shaking her head, and reached for the knocker. 

He didn’t answer right away. It was, of course, a possibility she’d considered. She simply knocked again. Then waited, then knocked. After five minutes of this, she knocked harder and began to call his name. 

Nothing. 

When it was getting close to three, her desperation was becoming difficult to contain. 

“Sirius,” she called, working to keep her voice even, “if you would please allow me five—no, I just need _three_ minutes. I really need to tell you something. Some _things_!”

She waited, then added, “please?”

A minute passed, then she tried, “I’ll say it from the street, if you want?”

Nothing. 

_He’ll be watching, of course._ Maybe Disillusioned at the window, or perhaps with just a Visitor Detecting charm. _Probably cursing, or rolling his eyes, or—god, maybe even laughing._ But the thought only made her set her jaw. 

With a final huff, she conjured a chair and sat. 

“I’ll just wait, then,” she called. 

Three o’clock turned to three fifteen, and then three thirty, and still she waited. She knocked again, then sat; she reread the letter, knocked, mentally rehearsed her talking points until it became a fully scripted speech. Her heart ached, her frustration flared, her guilt washed over her. Again and again it all circled inside until it was nearly five and she felt quite mad. 

Then, “Hermione?” And, _Merlin_ , just hearing her name in his voice nearly made it all melt away. 

But the voice was coming from the sidewalk. 

“Sirius!” she squeaked, vanishing her chair as she stood and whirled to face him. “You… you were out?”

“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head. She noted that he was, indeed, holding two records. “Are you—have you been waiting?” He took out his wand and shrank the albums, pocketing them. 

She tried to gauge his tone. He seemed surprised, but she couldn’t tell exactly what else was underneath. Taking a deep breath, she began. “Can I please talk to you? I just want five minutes, and then—if you want, I’ll leave you alone for—” she swallowed, “for as long as you want. Please, I need to tell you—”

“Fine,” he said, with a little shake of his head. He sounded a bit strained, but she would take whatever she could get. 

He remained standing at the foot of the stairs. It didn’t feel right that she should be at the top, standing over him. She stepped aside, not wanting him to feel he couldn’t enter his own home because she was in the way. 

But he stood, unmoving, on the sidewalk, and looked at her expectantly. 

And her mind went completely blank. “I…” she tried, then took a panicked breath. Her speech, all of her carefully prepared talking points had flown from her mind as though she’d been Obliviated. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, frantically searching for a way to begin. “I’m so sorry, Sirius,” she choked, already feeling tears pricking at her eyes. She squeezed them shut, making herself swallow, trying not to ruin everything. 

She flew down the stairs in three steps and thrust the letter at him. “Could you please read this?” 

His stance remained rigid, but something had softened the slightest bit in his face. Finally, he nodded, taking the parchment and unfolding it. 

Her heart thundered in her chest as she watched his eyes move over the page. 

He frowned. “It says, ‘Dear Harry’.”

_Bloody hell, what were the damn talking points?_ she screamed internally. “I know, sorry—I was going to explain. This is… something I would’ve sent. I _should’ve_ sent, about two weeks ago. And I—if you want, I would like to send it now.”

He studied her for a moment, his face impassive. Then he gave a small nod and began to read aloud. “ _Dear Harry, It’s Hermione. You’re probably wondering why I’m sending this from Sirius’ owl_ —oh, are you?” he asked, and she thought she detected a slight bit of lightness in his tone, mixed in with the surprise, the doubt. 

_Merlin save me, it’s all fucking wrong,_ she groaned to herself. But then he started reading again. 

“ _This may come as a surprise, but Sirius and I are seeing each other. I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t make this decision lightly._ ” He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers before he began again, “ _I know I’ve been down this road before, but trust me when I say I wouldn’t rush into things with someone so close to you, and to all of us, really, unless I knew it was very much worth it. We’ve grown very close, and…”_

His voice trailed off as he read the rest to himself. As Hermione watched his shoulders relax, she felt the tension releasing from her own body, bit by bit. 

“I see,” he said quietly, when he’d finally reached the end. 

They locked eyes, and she could see that his were as silver as ever, shining slightly in the early evening sun. 

Her stomach tensed, her heart threatened to jump, but she made herself breathe, before she could hope. 

“Sirius, you’ve become… you are incredibly important to me. I feel so—connected, and, and open, and honest when I’m with you. It’s not been like this, at all, with the other guys I’ve dated. And I was so awful, such an incredible prat to you last weekend—it feels like a hundred years ago, as I’ve been just, regretting and regretting—” she shook her head, stopping herself. 

“I can just be such a bloody _mess_ sometimes,” she sighed, “emotionally, I mean. I—it takes me a while to warm up to things, and to come to a big decision. Which—this really felt like a big decision, because you’re… you’re _significant_ to me. Which sounds daft, of course, because that’s, that’s the answer right there. But I was scared—I was a fucking coward, you’re absolutely right. And—and I was thinking about all the wrong things instead of just appreciating and having confidence in what was right in front of me.”

“And it’s not an excuse,” she said carefully, “but, to understand where I was coming from, with—” 

“—yeah,” he nodded, holding up a hand. She was worried for a moment he was going to tell her to go, but he finished, simply, “with Ron. I get it.” 

She drew in a breath. “Really?” she couldn’t help but ask. 

He exhaled a little laugh, and she all but melted with relief. “I mean, I don’t think I see it quite the way you do, but,” he shrugged, “I get it.”

She swallowed hard, beaming at him. “Right. Thanks,” she breathed.

“You know, it took me some time to warm up to this too,” he sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “You remember, I’m sure?”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“But you were very convincing.” He shook his head, his mouth pulling into a frown. “I don’t do things by halves, Hermione. If I’m in, I’m in.”

“I know, of course,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I was wrong, and stupid, and—”

“—that’s, don’t, say that.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ve been an arse too,” he sighed.

“You don’t have to—”

“—of course I do. I’m sorry. I really am. I should’ve read your letters.”

“Should’ve _read_?” she couldn’t help but say. “You didn’t even open them?”

“Ah,” he shook his head at the sidewalk. “Yeah. One or two. Sorry. I was just—so fucking angry. But, oh, god, you’re going to like this,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

She couldn’t possibly imagine what he would say next. 

“I made an appointment. With a—you know, head doctor.”

Her mouth fell open. “Honest?”

He nodded. “It was Harry’s idea.”

“It was _Harry’s_ _idea_?” 

“Oh, I miss making you angry,” he chuckled.

“I miss making you laugh,” she said genuinely.

“Yeah, Harry—I guess he rather reminded me of someone else’s idea. Some witch, can’t remember who, exactly.”

“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” she grinned, taking his hands. “Did you really?”

“Monday at three,” he said, squeezing back. “Poor Harry, bless him. I’ve been a bit, ah…” he dropped her hands with a sigh. “Well I’m sure he’s told Ginny, so you’ll have heard, right?”

Hermione frowned, not sure how much was wise to say. “She said you’ve… not been at the office.”

“Right. I didn’t tell him why, though, so he thinks it’s some crisis, so… Anyway, I figured it would make him happy.”

“Well,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “anything to make _Harry_ happy.”

“So, you were really going to send this?” He held up the letter.

“Yes,” she nodded firmly. “I mean,” her eyes went wide, “only if you want, obviously!”

“Obviously.” God, she loved that little smirk.

“And the others—Ron, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—I’ll write all of them. If it's okay with you.”

“Hmm,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching. “I’m—yeah, I’m not going to let you do that.”

She felt her blood beginning to turn cold until she noticed the glint in his eye. 

“You should have to tell them in person, shouldn’t you.” 

Her relief nearly outweighed her apprehension at the idea. 

“Better to let there be a chance for dialogue,” he continued with a grin, “and besides, I want to watch.” 

Her brain worked quickly, fast-forwarding through what she imagined Harry and the Weasleys’ reactions to be. “Well,” she said, taking a large gulp of air. “Alright.” 

“Say… tomorrow? At the Burrow?”

“Okay. Alright. I can do that,” she said, nodding vigorously. 

“Promise?”

“Yes! Of course, anything.”

He held her gaze, that beautiful grin spreading slowly across his face. “Good girl,” he said softly, pulling her to him. 

He must’ve gotten a poor night’s sleep as well, because it was hardly dark out before they fell asleep, hot and sweaty in each other’s arms. Hermione awoke sometime after midnight to the sweet comfort of his breath on the back of her neck. She wiggled in his sleeping grasp, turning to face him, slowly, so as not to wake him. But he was sound asleep, breathing deep through slightly parted lips. 

She took in his form. The muscles of his chest, the enchanted phoenix on his shoulder. The sharp cut of his jaw echoed in those high cheekbones. Pale skin against inky black hair— _wildly disheveled,_ she grinned to herself. Unable to resist, she pushed back a lock of hair from his face, and let her finger trail over his cheek as she did so. 

“You sweet man,” she whispered to the dark. 

Then two grey eyes were peering back at her. “Hey,” he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” he murmured, running his palm up her back. 

“I was just…” She combed her fingers through his hair. “Admiring.”

“Mmm,” he chuckled. “I was sure you’d mention that in your apology, you know. Handsome, dashing; beautiful, maybe—I’ve been called it before.”

“Who calls you beautiful? Your record store girl?”

“Liza?” he asked. “You know she doesn’t work there anymore, right?”

“Well, I mean, I couldn’t blame you. If you were going to see her today,” she said lightly.

He shook his head. “I was there for another Muggle woman… name of Sinéad O’Connor. They finally restocked _Faith and Courage_.”

“You got that… today?” she asked. “Before you saw me?” He didn’t consider most of her favorite artists to be ‘hard enough’ to do much more than humor her with a listen or two, but he’d really enjoyed Sinéad when she showed him. Especially after she explained the whole bit about the pope. 

“Yeah,” he shrugged. He turned to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before he said, “you’ve become really important to me too, love.”

“Well, fuck,” she laughed, shaking a little sob from her throat. She crawled over him to press her lips to his temple. “How long were you going to let me grovel, then?”

He laughed out loud, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her astride him. “Darling,” He captured her lips in a quick kiss. “That was _hardly_ groveling. But,” he considered, his lips twitching, “a resourceful little witch like you, I’m sure you could show me a better example?”

A flush came over her. “You’re going to make me beg you for your heart, are you Black?” 

Another laugh tumbled from his lips. “Not my heart, little girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end- it's looking like about two more chapters. Thanks so much everyone for reading.


	18. A Late Night, A Late Morning

Sirius had allowed Hermione to brush her teeth, and to use a Cushioning Charm, but other than that he was determined to be relentless. He had her naked and kneeling for him, just as he wanted her. He hadn’t even touched her yet, except to relieve her of her clothes and deliver a few smacks to her backside, and already she was glowing with flush and sweat.

“Lean forward—get down on your hands,” Sirius commanded, with another spank. 

“Mmm,” she whimpered. 

He moved directly behind her. “Good god, witch,” he groaned, enjoying the view. But it only made him want more of her. “Lean down. More. I want those tits on the floor—no, keep your arse up, did I say to move it?”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. 

“How’s that, my little fool?” he asked softly.

“Green, I promise. I can tell you. Keep going.”

“What did you say?”

He leaned over and saw her mouth curving. “Please keep going,” she said with her eyes closed.

“Better. Now spread your knees for me, love.”

She obliged, exposing herself completely to him. 

_Circe’s tits, she’s fucking gorgeous._ He dragged his eyes over her; those pretty pink lips like petals unfolding before his eyes, round cheeks parted just enough. His hand went involuntarily to his cock and he began to stroke himself. 

“God, you’re a fucking vision,” he remarked, almost to himself. 

He gave her another light slap on the arse with his free hand. More of an approving pat than anything. She gave a contented sigh.

“So wet for me,” he said. He touched her clit and she jumped a little at the sudden contact. “Alright?”

“Yes, fuck—I wanted you to touch me.”

“So what do you say?” _The ideas this witch puts in my head…_

She sighed into the floor. “Thank you.”

“Good girl.”

He traced his finger back from her clit, up through her folds. He hesitated at her entrance, pushing in and out by millimeters. 

“Please?” she asked.

He responded with a low moan, pushing into her. 

“Fuck!”

But he pulled away just as soon, and instead trailed back down to her clit, circling with his newly-moistened finger. He wanted to tease and frustrate her almost as much as he wanted to give her everything.

He traced his finger up again, back toward her entrance. He dipped in just slightly, and then, unable to resist, traced up higher until he touched the rosebud at her backside. 

“Oh,” she squeaked. 

He rewarded her with a dark laugh. “The things I’ll do to you,” he sighed. Then she felt both his palms on her ass, his thumbs reaching in toward her lips. He pulled slightly, spreading her open even further. 

_Sweet fucking Circe,_ she thought, with a violent shiver. Just as he heard her take in a nervous little breath, he let go, adding, “someday.”

She sighed, and he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or disappointment. He smoothed his hands up her back. “Alright?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Color?”

She paused, then answered, “just—a little yellow. Yellowish green.”

“My brave girl,” he said soothingly. “Come here.” He pulled her back up to a kneeling position and began to kiss her neck. “I just love to fucking see you,” he murmured against her ear. “So open, all for me.”

She reached back to touch his leg. “Yes,” she agreed.

“Let’s take a little break from this. Why don’t you get on the bed, pet. On your back.”

She took a deep breath and began to situate herself.

“So I was thinking,” he said, “we could take a break from the physical stuff, for you, and work on your words instead. You’re terribly incoherent when I’m touching you, you know,” he grinned. 

She laughed, watching his eyes dance as he stood over her at the foot of the bed. “Alright,” she smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

His hand went to his cock. “Improvise?” he shrugged. “I’ll be sure to let you know how you’re doing.”

“Ohh,” she said on a breath, her eyes fixed on his hand. “You’re—you’re going to touch yourself for me, are you?” 

_That’s it, Granger, show off your dirty mouth for me_. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He wanted her to do the work, and he could already see the silence was beginning to make her squirm. 

“Fuck, your—” she breathed, “seeing your hand like that… the way you grip yourself.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Mmm, that’s good,” he said, and she smiled up at him. 

“You’re so sexy. Beautiful, even,” she smirked. They laughed together, even as he stroked himself. “I remember when I first saw—your cock—”

“—that’s it. More filth,” he said, reaching his free hand down to skim up her thigh. 

“When I first saw your cock,” she continued, pulling herself up to sit, “I couldn’t believe how big you were.”  
“Yeah?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

“Oh yes,” she purred, sounding confident. “I just imagined you… plunging into me. How it would feel, inside me. Such a big, hard cock.”

“Mmm,” he sighed, pumping harder. “You like this cock?”

“Yes, fuck, I want it Sirius. Want you so bad.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you… can I suck your cock?”

He grunted, fisting his cock, as his other hand came up to catch her chin. “Gotta say please.”

“Oh, please, baby? I want to suck your cock.”  
“Beg.” 

“Please, _please_ , I want it so badly,” she said, her voice going higher. “Can I? I promise I’ll make it good.”

“Mmm.” He tightened his grip on her chin, then released her with a sharp nod. “Suck,” he demanded, coming up to kneel on the bed. 

She scrambled closer and his cock twitched eagerly as she bent to take him in her mouth. 

The velvety slide of her lips and tongue over his hardness sent a faint crackle of magic across his skin. 

“Mmmf,” she sighed around him. 

“Ohh, that’s a good girl,” he rasped. He loved to watch her face when he praised her like that. Loved to see how deep she would flush, or if he could get a shiver to break out on her skin. This one turned her cheeks that lovely shade, and she gave a soft moan that made his cock thrum.

“Just wait,” he said, pulling away with some effort. He rose to stand on the bed, steadying himself on one of its tall posts. “Now get on your knees,” he said quickly. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say that,” she said softly.

With her mouth stuffed full of him again, she began to work him with abandon. She worked her tongue on the underside of his shaft, trying to take him deeper and deeper until he felt her throat relax and he slid in completely. 

“Circe,” he hissed. “Fuck, my _bad_ little girl.”

She hummed, moving back gently as she smoothed her hands up his thighs, scratched her nails lightly on his skin. 

“Want me to come, little witch?”

“Mmhm,” she nodded, withdrawing slightly to lave her tongue over the head of his cock. “Will you please,” she started breathily, “please tell me where you want to come? Anything you want.”

“Anywhere?” 

“Please,” she said, and parted her lips slightly. 

_Oh fuck._ “Mmm,” he groaned. “Want me to come in your mouth, dirty girl?”

“ _Yes_.”  
“What do you—”  
“Please!” She took him into her mouth, bobbing twice down his length. Seeming to remember the prompt, she broke away to offer a few more breathy, desperate pleas before starting to work him again. She sucked hard, pumping her hand on the base of his shaft as she urged him on. He tangled his fingers into her hair and she let out a low moan. 

“I’m close, love.” Sometimes he did it on purpose—said things with a certain inflection whose authority was less inspired by sex and dominance than it was by the years they’d known each other as an adult and a schoolgirl. He said it the way he might have told her and Harry to be careful, during the war. Or praised her for her good marks. It felt terribly dark, but once he realized the effect it had on her, he’d immediately filed it away in his BDSM toolkit. Telling her that he was about to come in his ‘godfather’ voice made her reel and shudder even more than he’d hoped.

“Fuck,” she stopped just long enought to gasp, “yes, please.” 

“Want me to come for you, love? Yeah?” he moaned. “Gonna come down your pretty little throat, Hermione.”

She whimpered, still sucking for all she was worth. He gave two hard thrusts, and then exploded into her mouth. She continued to bob on his cock as he felt the next two jolts of his release spurt onto her tongue, steadying himself on the bedpost.

“Fuuuck,” he said on a long, low moan. Finally, he withdrew, sinking down onto the mattress beside her. “Merlin, Circe and Morgan fucking le Fay,” he said breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers. “Perfect—so fucking perfect.”

She smiled, smoothing a hand over his shoulder. 

“Can I have a turn now?” he asked, pulling back to look at her. 

“Oh, again?” She asked, furrowing her brow. 

“No,” he laughed. “Tasting. I want my tongue inside you, _yesterday,_ love,” he said, moving his hand between her legs to cup her mound. 

“Ohh,” she breathed, her eyes closing at the contact.

“Come on,” he said quietly against her neck. “Tell me you want me.”

“Of course I want you.” 

Then his lips were on her neck, her collarbone, her breast. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth lightly over the sensitive bud. He licked and kissed at her other breast, then her navel, moving distractedly as he devoured the various parts of her body in turn. When he finally settled himself between her thighs, she moaned in anticipation. 

But, of course, he didn’t want to just make it easy for her. 

He remembered their first night together, in that fucking cell. How he’d wanted to make everything so perfect and good and _hot_ for her. It was the only way he could’ve made it through such a thing, knowing she wanted him too. But he needed her to want him badly, desperately. He couldn’t do it unless he knew she _needed_ him. God, if someone had told him how much he would adore the sounds of Hermione Granger begging for his touch… 

“Sirius, please?” she asked, exactly on queue. 

“Shh.” He directed the stream of air at her parted lips, like he was shushing her very cunt. 

She whined.

—And if he’d known just how _easy_ it would be for him to be, too. To make her want him. Need him.

He began to plant soft kisses on her hips. She let out a groan somewhere between pleasure and frustration. _Good_ , he thought, moving to mouth the inside of her thighs, the outside of her lips, her soft mound of curls. He listened for each little gasp as he got closer and sigh as he moved away, finally bringing his mouth just over her center. He parted his lips to let a soft, hot breath tease her, and she squirmed under him. Her hand was in his hair now, urging him closer. 

“Use your words, darling.” He caught both of her wrists in his hands and pressed them into the bed.

“Can I please have your mouth, Sirius,” she asked quickly. “You’re—making me insane.”

“Oh,” he said on a low chuckle, “but you make it so easy.” He released one of her wrists to trace a finger down her slit. 

“Oh, god.”

“You’re not mad, love, just incredibly fucking wet.”

“ _Please_ ,” she said, like every fiber of her being was behind it. Her free hand came up to comb through his hair again, and he supposed he could allow it, given how fucking lovely it felt when she tugged just— _like that, fuck._

He immediately moved to plant a direct kiss onto her opening, unable to keep the groan from his throat as he did it. 

“Godfuckyes _please_ ,” she said in one tumbling breath. “More, please, Sirius, I can’t take it anymore, you’re too bloody good, pleas— _yes!_ ”

Though he was finally beginning to oblige her, he was determined to do it at an agonizing pace. He kissed up her folds, stopping to press several more to her clit. She was flushed here, too, everything dark pink with arousal. And getting wetter, as he continued to kiss her. When he finally swiped his tongue over her sensitive bud, she cried out, her grip on his hair tightening. He licked his way back down to her opening again, running his tongue in slow circles over her folds and just inside of her. He loved the taste of her. With his finger drawing lazy patterns on her clit, he pushed his tongue into her, savoring the taste of her increasingly thick honey.

“So fucking good,” she mumbled as he continued his work.

But, not wanting to bring her over the edge, he changed it up, moving his hand instead to her entrance and his mouth back up to her clit. He pushed a finger into her, swirling his tongue around her little pearl. He listened to her breathing, her moans and whimpers, stroking inside of her, relishing the feel of her slick walls. He added a second finger, drawing her swollen clit into his mouth at the same time. The sound of her keening his name like it was a fucking song— _god, this woman._ He almost regretted what he was about to do to her. 

“You taste so good,” he half-mumbled into her pussy. “Love having your soaked little cunt on my mouth like this, love.”

She let out a moan almost like a purr. 

“Think you’re going to come for me, Granger?”

“God, yes.” She sounded like she’d just run a marathon.

“Going to fucking unravel for me? With my fingers inside you?” He added a third finger just as he said it.

“Ohh, god that’s good, yes.”

He thrust into her pussy, hard, taking her clit between his lips again. “Close?” he paused only briefly to ask.

She gave a few quick breaths, then said, “yes.”

Then he pulled back, replacing his lips with his other hand. “You want to come?”  
“Yes!”  
“Yes, what?”

“Fuck—yes, please.”

He fucked into her hard, circling her clit with his other fingers. “Use your words, Granger,” he said, feeling positively devilish.

“I—fuck. I want to come—can I please come, Sirius?”

Then, nearly breaking his own heart as he did it, he pulled out of her with a wet _pop._ “No.”

She lay frozen for a beat, then tried another “please?”

He laughed, pulling himself back up to his knees. It was painful to do, but it gave him such a fucking thrill at the same time. “Sorry love,” he said, giving her thigh a gentle pat. “Not right now.”

She jerked herself up to a sitting position. “I—what? Really?”

Feeling like he might break, or possibly even laugh if he looked at her, he gave a long, languid stretch, casting his eyes at the ceiling instead. Then, feeling more collected, he leveled a look at her. “You can finish after you’ve told them.” 

Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

“Hermione, I told you not to ask me that question.”

“But…” she summoned her wand to check the time. It was the most coherent he’d ever seen her this soon after sex. He wondered if it had something to do with the fact that she hadn’t finished. 

She continued, “that’s over twenty hours from now.” 

“You sound like a kid who’s just missed the ice cream van,” he said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. 

“You’re… evil!” she said, her eyes going wide.

“Well, maybe, but I’ve also heard I can be quite a bit of fun.”

She huffed. “I’ll just finish myself off then,” she said airily, starting to get off the bed.

He hadn’t considered this. He caught her by the arm. “Don’t,” he found himself saying. 

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Don’t touch my own body?” she challenged.

Brain working quickly, he weighed the stakes of the two potential outcomes. He cleared his throat, trying to summon a tone that was definitive but not too harsh. “I didn’t say you could, did I.” Not a question.

Her eyebrows shot up again, then slowly settled back down. Her pupils went wide, making her dark eyes look almost black. A blush crept into her cheeks, and even though he knew he’d won, he asked gently, “red?”

“No,” she sighed. “Definitely not red.” She turned away and muttered, “bastard.”

\------------------

  
  


Hermione awoke late Sunday morning feeling groggy and confused. Then she heard Sirius’ breathing beside her and it all came back to her. They’d made up—he’d taken her back, and read the letter, and they were going to tell everyone. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, finding her courage again. Whatever they said, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as having him so upset with her, could it? 

With a contented sigh, she wriggled closer, pressing herself into his body like they were two spoons. _Oh_ , she thought, making a mental note that morning wood was still a thing for men in their thirties. She felt him move behind her, then she felt him _move_ behind her. Then she remembered how their night had ended and rolled back to the other side of the bed. _Tosser_ , she thought. 

“S’matter?” came his voice, gruff with sleep. 

She turned to face him. _Merlin, how does he look this good first thing in the morning?_ “Nothing,” she smiled. “I just… noticed you had a bit of a situation, here,” she said, trailing her finger down his stomach and over his trunks. 

“Mmm,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. 

She stroked him lightly through the fabric, then pulled her hand away abruptly. “And I didn’t want to risk doing something awful, like bring you halfway to an orgasm and then leave you high and dry,” she said crisply. 

He laughed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I am awful, aren’t I? Promise I’ll make it up to you later, though.” 

She bit her lip at the thought. “I was thinking about showering. Or were you going to first?”

“Ladies first,” he said, flopping back down on the bed. “And while you’re in there, remember—”

“—I won’t,” she shot back quickly.

He paid for breakfast, at least. Or maybe it was lunch, at this hour—though they both ordered eggs. Sirius had taken her to the cafe just down the block, and it occurred to Hermione that this would probably be the last time they went to a Muggle place together. _Or maybe we’ll still come to_ this _place, since it’s so close to his house._ His house, where she would be waking up next to him on the regular. _Oh, until he moves, that is_ — 

“Thinking again, Granger?”

“Sorry,” she smiled. 

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

“What? Of course. I’m not actually angry about the whole… finishing thing.” 

He laughed, reaching for his tea. “I was wondering if it was the other thing.”

“Oh!” she laughed nervously. “Yeah. I mean, I’m a little, um, anxious. But,” she shrugged. “I’m not going to chicken out or anything.” She punctuated the last sentence with a haughty lift of her eyebrows.

“‘Course not,” he smiled, taking a long sip. “I’ve been thinking about it, though.” He set down his mug, running his thumb absently over the handle. She began to wonder if he was having second thoughts, after all this.

“Let’s not tell everyone today.” 

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

“I—um.” He shook his head. “You were right, about some things. This did all happen pretty fast—”

“—you don’t want to?” she blurted, her voice full of hurt. 

“What? No! No, no, I definitely want to,” he said, nodding eagerly as he laid a hand over hers. “I just wanted to—offer, I guess—it doesn’t all have to be today. In front of everyone at once. I was thinking, maybe we can just tell Harry tonight. See how that goes. And then, say, next week, if you’re up to it, then it could be Ron. Or Molly, or whoever you think should be next. And then, you know, another week or two, we can see if this thing has legs,” he grinned, “and—”

“— _see if this thing has legs_? Are you bloody daft?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at him. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and continued, “I’m sitting here, still half-dying to— _come_ ,” she barely breathed into her teacup before snapping her eyes back up to his, “because you tortured me to the brink of bloody reality last night! And you want to ‘ _see if this thing has legs?’_ ”

He laughed out loud, and she saw him adjust his sleeve under the table and murmur a ‘ _Muffliato.’_ “ _I_ can see that it’s got legs, love, I just meant, for _you_. Since you’re Miss Cautious.”

She couldn’t resist a dramatic eye roll at that. Then she collected herself, taking a drink of her tea. “Well. That was very sweet of you, to think of me. But really, I can handle it.” 

“Honest, Hermione. I like making you squirm plenty when we’re alone, but I know it wasn’t your idea to make this big announcement to all fifty of the Weasleys at dinner.”

There were fif _teen_ Weasleys, if you counted all the kids and significant others, and if everyone came. She knew because she’d tried to imagine all of their reactions several times over the last twenty or so hours. When she got right down to it, the main ones she was a bit worried about were Harry, Ron, and Molly, in that order; though she was braced for a bit of chilliness from some of the others as well. Lavender, at least, should be happy about it, not that Hermione cared terribly what she thought. And Ginny was already onboard. 

She sighed. “Well, it would be nice to tell Harry first. I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

“Good,” he smiled. “I can owl him when we get back. Maybe we could have them over for dinner, skip the Burrow tonight?”

She frowned.

“Come on, we’ve all just seen each other yesterday, anyway. It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, right.” At the post-trial celebration she’d excused herself from. 

“Sorry, except you, I mean,” he said to the table. “That was… thoughtful of you to sit out. So I could sulk a bit more.”

“From the sounds of it you’re quite an expert sulker,” she said with a smirk. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, breathing a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Dinner with the Potters sounds lovely. You’re going to cook?”

“God, no, I’m awful. Let’s just get Chinese from that place he likes on eighth.”

**Author's Note:**

> 10/27 UPDATE - I have sooo been enjoying writing and posting this... surprisingly thorough account of how H & S navigate things after the rescue! Seriously I originally saw this as like a 2-3 chapter 'wrap up' kind of thing to satiate you dear readers after part 1, but as I was plotting it I totally felt like the Beautiful Mind chalkboard scene XD - there is just so MUCH to explore. I think Chapter 10, here, is somewhere around 2/3rds-3/4ths of the way through where the story will land, FYI. Just a few more hurdles to navigate for the two of them, and we haven't seen near enough smut yet, have we?
> 
> ~~Also, I just can.not.think. of a subtitle for this! Thinking about just scratching 'Imprisoned' from part 1 and calling it a day~~
> 
> I'm loving all of the comments and feedback, they are a true delight to read. THANK YOU all for reading!
> 
> Last thing, I've started another, tonally different H & S story that will be going up after this one is finished. (Not letting it encroach on my weekly updates here though :)) Very similar Hermione and Sirius characterizations at its core, but a totally different starting point that will put her, especially, through a sad new challenge. The tags are more along the lines of grief - comfort - sadness - romance - vignette - healing - eventual happy (imperfect) ending. So, if that's up your alley, stay tuned!
> 
> 11/9 UPDATE - Thanks Natasha_Rhiannon for helping name this - "Held Hostage II: Released" it is :)


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